Archives for April 2011

Ant eater.

Lately we have had an ant problem in our home. The other night we had some really bad weather and I mean REALLY BAD weather, in which tornadoes touched down in our area and houses were destroyed and many people were killed. It was devastating. Bella and I (and Kitty) hid in our hallway near the bathroom during the storms.

Bella didn’t really know what was going on. She thought we were just having a slumber party in the hallway. During one of the storms she kept trying to wander away from her pillow palace and back out into the foyer. That is until it started to sound like the roof was being ripped off our house, then she started to panic. Turns out the roof was not getting ripped off the house, it was just some huge hail. Our yard was littered with these guys:

Many people got more than the hail and they are in my thoughts. I consider us to be very blessed and very very lucky.

That night our ant problem became even more severe. It’s like they knew the weather was terrible and they were just trying to survive and that kind of made me feel guilty for squishing them. Honestly, I always kind of feel bad about squishing them. I mean, if I were an ant I wouldn’t want anyone smashing me, but me and the ants? Well, we just can’t coexist in this household.

I keep forgetting to get some little ant traps. I need to remember to do that tomorrow. Tonight I was preparing Bella’s dinner in the kitchen and she was playing on the floor. I looked at her just as she was shoving her hand in her mouth and I saw a little black thing on her tongue: ANT. I’m pretty sure it was a dead ant, because just moments before I had seen one on the floor that I meant to pick up but didn’t. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter if it was dead or alive, an insect is an insect.

I shoved my fingers in her mouth but couldn’t get anything. She had already swallowed it. Eh. Oh well.

In the words of my friend Mommy Boots: “Little ant never hurt anyone.”

Tis true. I once fed my sister a worm. She survived.

But I still need to remember to get those ant traps….

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The day the scratchin’ brush died.

So I have this weird condition that maybe most people don’t know about. If you’ve lived with me, you know about it. If not, well, let me explain:

I have this circulatory problem that causes my hands and feet to turn blue or red. It also causes them to fall asleep frequently, meaning like, ALL THE TIME. It also causes them to itch like the HOLY BE-JESUS.

No joke. I have literally scratched so hard I have bled before. Okay, that actually happens pretty frequently. I’ve been to the doctor numerous times…I’ve actually just scheduled another appointment!

It’s not blot clots. It’s not diabetes. The only actual diagnosis I’ve ever been given is Raynauds, I don’t know if that is actually what I have or not. The more I read about it, the more I suspect “NO”.

This….thing….whatever it is….causes me to wake up in the middle of the night with pain or itching in my extremities. Sometimes it is so severe I have wished I didn’t HAVE feet or hands. No exaggeration. I’m dead serious. I’ve cried. I’ve bled. I’ve soaked whatever is hurting or itching in ice cold water. I’ve tried boiling hot  water. Nothing. Works.

Anyway, for as long as I can really remember, I’ve had this “scratching brush” for when I have an itch episode in my hands. It’s this circular/curling hair brush that I wrap my hands around and grind it up and down. It you have my condition-whatever it actually is- it feels MIRACULOUS. I have seriously had this hair brush for about 10 or 15 years. I love it. I take it with me on vacations. It has a special place it stays in my bathroom so that it can be found quickly and easily….it is my HERO.

However, today I found this:

Oh Nooooooooes!

That’s right. Someone broke the scratchin’ brush. I suspect it was a certain toddler that resides in my household, but I’m not pointing any fingers.

Anyway, this makes my whole hand scratching process a little harder but I refuse to throw it out, I WILL MAKE IT WORK. Old buddy, you have been by my side for so long, I refuse to retire you until you are completely un-usable.

By the way, if you have an idea about what I have or how to remedy it….please advise.

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The Kitteh.

Tonight my beloved Kitty gave me a scare.

When I pulled into my driveway, I saw him laying on the sidewalk basking in the sunshine. I walked inside to find my sweet Bella and my mother, who was babysitting. Captain Kitty followed me in but I didn’t take much notice of him until about 15 minutes later. When I took the time to look at him I noticed that he was coved in a black substance that kind of resembled a tire mark across his fur. So at first I was like; “Holy crap, he got hit by something!” Now I’m thinking: not so much. Actually I’m still not sure. Upon more investigation, he was covered in this black sticky substance that I proceeded to wipe off with baby wipes because well, those things are good for lots of stuff besides wiping baby butts.

Throughout the night I’ve watched his behavior. He has been kind of sluggish, walking slow, wanting to be left alone and acting like one of his legs is kind of sore. I’ve contacted a friend who’s husband is vet. I’ve monitored his breathing, checked his pupils, and given him a head to toe examination. I’ve been freaking out thinking, what the hell should I do? Should I take him to an emergency vet?  Should I wait? On one hand he’s been worrying me a bit. On the other hand last time I took him to the vet we ended up with a $300 or $400 bill for some x-rays and antibiotics. Honestly? I think he would have been fine without having gone to the vet and I would have $300 + more in my pocket right now.

He seems to really be okay, I’m just paranoid. He has been sleeping in his cat bed in the garage all evening which he never really does except when he’s irritated with Bella.

Pissed Kitteh.

But now? Now around 11 PM? He’s kinda back to being his normal self. He’s been standing by the front door for about 10 minutes now like “Let me out Mommy.” Yeah right, you know what sucker? No more outside for you, ever. OUTSIDE TIME IS OVER.  So he gave up on trying to get outside and is instead sleeping in his favorite chair.

Thats right cat. You sleep in that chair forever.

No more outside. OUTSIDE = DANGER.

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Keep calm and…

Hello friends.

What’s on my list of things irritating the holy piss out of me this week? So glad you asked!

(What’s that? Oh you weren’t aware I had a weekly list of things that were annoying me? Yeah. Me neither. But now I do, for the purpose of this post anyway.)

Anyway, the thing that I am talking about it this little sucker:

HAVE YOU SEEN IT? I mean its EVERYWHERE. It’s been printed on paperweights, magnets, buttons, pretty much anything you can think it.

Most people probably don’t know this was a poster created by the Brits during World War II to calm people the EFF down. Now the little bastard has been re-discovered and it’s looming around every corner waiting to jump out and tick me off. It’s not like the saying actually offends me or anything, I just find it so irritating.

I mean, it’s just such a stupid saying. DON’T TELL ME TO BE CALM. I’LL SHOW YOU HOW TO KEEP CALM. WHO ARE YOU TELLING ME TO KEEP CALM ANYWAY?!?!?! AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

Maybe I have rage issues. I probably do because every time I see this crap on something, I makes me want to harm innocent creatures. (Not really. Please don’t report me.)

If anyone ever gives me something with this damn saying on it, well our friendship is over. Loveyameanit.

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Because I don’t scream at servers.

This is kind of off topic for my blog, but let’s face it: how many times do I actually write anything on topic? My whole life is off topic. What was I talking about? Oh right. I got it, let’s go.

Last night, we (meaning Jesus, Bella and I) went out to eat for Sushi. We went to this little family owned place, which seems to be the trend with most restaurants we frequent. They’re just more personal and often appeal to me more than chain restaurants.

Anyway, the place happened to be pretty busy for a Monday night. I mean, hell, theres never a wait on a Saturday night, so having a busy Monday was throwing them all out of whack. The owner was acting as the hostess and there were like 3 servers running the whole show. When we sat down, the manager also took our drink orders and told us our server would be over shortly.

It really took the server quite awhile to reach the table, but when she did she was very apologetic and she looked frazzled and sweaty and was carrying a bunch or stuff she obviously needed to drop off at other tables. She took our order and she was off again. I watched her run around like a mad woman refilling drinks, taking orders, cleaning tables and delivering food.

She came by to ask if we were okay and refilled our drinks and then….we waited…and waited…and waited. Jesus and I started looking at each wondering what the hell was taking so long.

Immediately our server popped by and apologized and promised  it would just be a few more minutes. Then the food arrived and we ate and I continued to watch her run all over the place.  The restaurant became more and more packed and I watched her get another large group of people in addition to the two big parties that were already in her section. By this time we were done with our meals and we were waiting on the check and we waited….and waited…and waited. Finally Jesus had to flag her down and she started apologizing. I told her it was okay, to which she exclaimed; “No! It’s just not!” She looked like she was about to have a breakdown.

When the bill was paid, Jesus was kind of cussing under his breath about how he wasn’t going to tip her and how she was terrible.

And I had to disagree. I waited tables for 5 years. I have sympathy for servers and I fully believe anyone that screams at a server is someone that I have no tolerance for. I was that server that you never wanted to get smart with, because I would f-ing put you in your place. I didn’t care if I sacrificed a tip, I would make it up on another table.

Anyway, there have been times when I have not tipped. I don’t tip servers that are rude to me. I don’t tip servers that are messing around, flirting with the hostess, watching TV at the bar, or text messaging when they should be refilling my drink. I don’t tip them because I’ve also worked with those type of people and I hate working with them as much as I hate having them wait on me.

But this girl? She was working her ass off. It wasn’t her fault the restaurant got unexpectedly busy and they weren’t staffed for it. That is a manager blunder if you ask me. I’ve been in those situations and it SUCKS. You need help, and there is no one to help you. So you just run around like a hot mess trying to do the best job that you can, but you don’t have freaking super powers, so you can’t do everything right.

So I tipped her. I tipped her 40%. Not because she did a great job, but because she was trying, she was sorry, and she looked like she was having a really bad night. I felt like she needed at least one small thing to go right and if my 40% did that, well good. If not, well hell, I tried.

I simply tried to treat her the way I would hope someone would treat me if I were in her shoes.

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My kid eats diapers.

One morning, not too long ago, I awoke in a panic. My child slept too late.

Some of you might be thinking: “What the hell? Don’t parents always complain about their kids getting up at the crack of dawn? Why would ANYONE complain that they slept too late?!”

Well, when you have a kid that wakes up at the crack of dawn, EVERY SINLE DAY, if they are off-schedule, you wonder: WHY? Is something wrong? Have they been kidnapped? Have they suffocated in their crib? (That is totally 100% not funny, I did not mean any of that as a joke this is literally how I think on mornings when Bella sleeps late, due to a number of horror stories that I have heard…mostly through the media.)

Anyway, let’s get back to the point here that is not about my obsessive worrying, (or is really about more obsessive worrying, just about another topic. Justbeinghonest.)

So, Bella slept late. She wasn’t up when my alarm clock went off for work, which never happens. Most days I don’t even set an alarm clock because my kid IS my alarm clock.

I woke up and when I realized it was actually daylight outside I went into panic mode: why is my baby not up yet?!?! So I dashed out of my bedroom and down the hall. I managed to pause for a moment outside her room and compose myself. This is simply because I have pummeled into her room so many times that I feel somewhat ashamed of myself. Sometimes I bust through her door with such alarming force that I shock her out of sleep and cause her to wake up crying. So, I have had to stop that behavior, because it’s creepy.

Thus, I paused outside her room, took a breath and slowly opened her door. That is when I heard her little baby sounds: “Ahhhh baa baa baa daa daa ahhhh.” She was fine, alone and awake in her crib, playing. I opened her door all the way to reveal myself. “Hello, Bunny,” I cooed softly. She was sitting upright in her crib, staring at me, playing with something in her hands.

I walked over and looked in at her, “How are you, pookie?” I asked. “Did you sleep well?” She smiled happily and then shoveled something in her mouth.

Wait A Minute. I thought. What in the hell is she eating? I snatched her up from her crib, and immediately I felt it, all over my arms: a sticky gooey mess. I sat Bella down on the floor and started examining her sheets. I discovered a clear/white gel-like substance all over them.

I turned back to Bella, who I discovered had her hand shoved down the front of her diaper, and I mean IN HER DIAPER. The kid had managed to dig a hole in the front of her disposable diaper and was pulling out the entrails and throwing them everywhere, and alas, eating them. Have you ever taken the time to see what is inside a disposable diapers? I hadn’t.

Hmmmm. Interesting.....

I'm not so sure my kid should be eating this...

Seriously f-ing considering cloth diapers at this point...

They’re like little soggy fluffy crystals. They obviously do an excellent job at absorbing liquid, I mean, this isn’t one of Bella’s wet diapers. I soaked it in the sink for a while before cutting it open and it didn’t leak AT ALL. However, I am now feeling somewhat nervous about the fact that my child knows how to rip open her diapers and eat what is inside. It kinda seriously creeps me out.

I was considering cloth diapering with my next child. I think this experience kinda sealed the deal on that one. (To at least TRY cloth diapering. No promises on how it’ll turn out.)

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Gloria and the fireplace.

Recently I mentioned in this post about the time my family’s cat, Gloria, fell into our fake fireplace and almost died.

Well, maybe she didn’t almost die. I don’t know. You decide.

A couple of years ago, my mom had gone to visit my dad, who lives in Cincinnati. (Yeah, my parents are married and live in separate cities, what of it?) Anyway, my sister and I were alone at home, which meant HEYYYYY PARTY TIME! Actually, no, it didn’t. I was sitting around watching Good Luck Chuck (which was pretty terrible) and my sister was locked up in her room, as usual.

Anyway, there I was in the living room watching Good Luck Chuck, and all of a sudden I heard this “thud thud thuddity thud clunk clunk meooooooowwwwww.”I turned the volume down on the TV and listened for a minute and didn’t hear anything more, so I resumed my watching. Then, as time went on, I kept hearing things: “Meowwww. Scratch. Scratch. Thud. Meowwww.” It went on for about half an hour, and I finally went upstairs to retrieve my sister.

We started wandering around the living room listening and knocking on walls. We finally pinpointed the sound to coming from the stone fireplace. Our fireplace was meowing. We took count of all the animals in the house, and realized one was missing: Gloria. My sister, Amy, began tapping on the wall next to the fireplace and shouting “GLORIA?!?!” In return, she would get this pitiful tiny, “meoooooow.”

We called my parents, telling them, somehow, some way, the cat had fallen inside of the fireplace. Only….the fireplace wasn’t real. It’s just this big stone fake fire place with electric logs. So my parents were all like “What have ya’ll been smokin’, that cat IS NOT IN THE FIREPLACE.” It wasn’t like there was a chimney or anything, it was just this solid stone monstrosity that she couldn’t possibly be inside of.

But Amy and I were not convinced, we didn’t care if it was illogical. That cat was in there. For some reason we thought that if we went into the basement, we would be able to gain access to her. Mind you, we don’t actually have a basement. It’s a crawl space underneath the front porch that leads you underneath the house, where theres just a bunch of dirt and nastiness and where you totally can’t stand up AT ALL. So, we crawled underneath the house in the cold, and in the dark, and in the dirt, thinking we were ACTUALLY going to find something.

Actually, you could hear the cat down there too, when you crawled underneath the living room area, but we couldn’t figure out where she was or how to get to her.

So we crawled back out from underneath the house and went back into the living room and tried to figure out what the hell had happened. We could still hear the cat in the fireplace. So we crawled back under the house again. I-don’t-know-why, we just didn’t know what to do.

Then Amy returned to her bedroom to wallow in self pity about her kitty being stuck in a fireplace. So, I called Jesus over, and we went crawling around underneath the house AGAIN. Actually, he did, I was tired of dirt and spiders. So I just waited to see if he found anything. He didn’t.

Amy and I continued to call and harass our parents, who I guess started to suspect something really WAS up. The next morning, my grandfather showed up bright and early saying my dad had called him to come check things out. He started listening and tapping on walls and heard the cat too (HAHA! I KNEW WE WEREN’T CRAZY!) However, he informed us that the cat was in the wall NEXT to the fireplace, not IN the fireplace. Then he started cutting holes, but he couldn’t find anything. So he left. Then we had all these holes in the wall. My parents called and said they had given up, something was going on, they were going to drive into town and figure it out.

6 hours later, they arrived, and my dad started cutting holes in the wall, too. It turns out, Gloria had gotten in the attic and HAD fallen into the wall. She fell all the way from the third floor down to the first floor. Needless to say, she was pretty happy to be rescued. Our walls, however, were pretty freaking ticked off, and so was my dad.

Oh, animals, I maintain my opinion that you are a big pain in the ass.

VICTORY and FREEDOM!!!!!!! FOREVER!

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Panic, the circus and my baby likes strangers.

About a month ago we took Bella to the circus and I completely forgot to write about it, until now.

I didn’t realize the circus was in town until the night before we went, so I wasn’t able to get the best seats in the arena in which it was being held. We ended up with seats in the high risers, which at first, I was fine with, considering that those were the CHEAPER seats. I wasn’t too keen on paying like $30+ per seat for something I wasn’t entirely sure my 1 year old was going to sit through for very long. Of course, this is before we actually got into the arena and to our seats….

First off, I should have known; I had been in this facility numerous times before, but sometimes, I just tend to forget things about myself. You see, I have this mild fear of enclosed spaces with high ceilings, meaning arenas and dome like spaces. So, when we started walking up the stairs to our seats in the high risers of an arena that sits 11,000 people (11,218 to be specific), I started feeling a little nauseous. We got to our seats, I held in my panic, and we sat down.

Anyway, I was just starting to feel okay in my seat when something started to really bother me: the guys that were wandering around in the aisles selling items like cotton candy (FOR TEN DOLLARS) or bottles of lemonade (ALSO TEN DOLLARS). The way that these guys were prancing to and fro, up and down the stairs, carrying these huge trays of circus sweets and treats made me want to vomit. I could never, ever, in my life do that. I would pass out and die.

Also, I had to pee about 30 minutes into the show, but I refused to get up. I knew that if I was able to make it back down the stairs and into a bathroom, I would have stayed there for the duration of the event…in the nice facilities, with lovely LOW ceilings.

Other than that, the circus was a pretty good time. Bella enjoyed it until about an hour in, when she started to get antsy. At that point she began crawling back and forth between mine and Jesus’ laps. Then, all of a sudden, she crawled into the lap of the girl next to Jesus. At first I was all freaked out, and then it turned out that I knew the girl, and she also works at a day care, or used to. I didn’t exactly get the whole story because I was too concerned with the fact that my child was crawling into the laps of random women and proclaiming: “Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma” at them. By the time I had come to terms with the fact that my toddler was sitting in the lap of the nice young lady next to us, Bella had made her way out of that young lady’s lap and down the row into the lap of the girl’s boyfriend. Bella sat in the lap of the boyfriend for a good 10 minutes or so, happily sucking her index finger and watching the show. Then she looked at him, then her, and got confused and started to cry and they had to pass our shrieking baby back down the row to us.

The point of this story, if you have been skimming this post looking for one?

1. I will never have a career as popcorn-beer-souveiner salesperson in any arena, anywhere, EVER.

2. My child refers to any female that gives her a good lap to sit on as “Ma Ma” .

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Kitty dines alone.

My cat is miserable. He has been tormented by the baby all week and he’s looking a little suicidal.

I tried to reward him today with some wet cat food. He usually gets the dry stuff, but he LOVES the canned stuff, however, we only give it to him every once in a while because it’s so fatty. Also, it smells disgusting.

Anyway, I gave him a can of food tonight, but I made him take it in the garage, for several reasons.

1. As previously mentioned, it smells icky.

2. He was acting hungry while Bella was still awake and I can’t feed him in the house when she is up because she gets into his food, and eats it with him, which is disturbing.

3. My parents were over for dinner, and when this happens, he tends to jump on the table and snag things off people’s plates.

So, it was just best to shut him in the garage with his dinner, except…..

mmmm.....yummy

Yeah. Thats my man cleaning cat puke off the hood of my car. Either the food didn’t sit well with Kitty, or he was like, “Hey, I’ll teach you to lock me in the garage alone with my dinner, SKANK.”

I think it’s the latter. Anyway, props to Jesus for cleaning it up without my even asking him to. Loveyoumeanit.

Cat puke makes me gag. WAIT. All puke makes me gag, I’m not selective on puke.

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Bella’s furry friends.

Bella has taken to torturing the cat, our oh-so-spunky feline, lovingly dubbed “Kitty.” Our wee tot chases him about the house, squealing, shrieking, smacking. She’s learned to latch onto his tail, yank his fur, and to sit on him. The poor animal is miserable. He stands pitifully by the front door, begging for someone, anyone, to just let him out.

This got me to thinking: though Kitty is the only animal in our house, (besides a couple of fish), he is not the only animal Bella encounters. Grandma and Grandpa’s house is FULL of furry friends. See, I grew up in a house full of animals, I’ve mentioned that before, specifically about having 20 cats and a 3 legged hamster.

It’s a wonder I ended up with only one cat. Actually, that is probably WHY I chose to have just one cat. I lived in a home that always had four legged friends (minus that one hamster). They were companions that peed on the carpet, scratched up the furniture and the door frames, caused flea infestations, and barked and meowed at all hours of the night. Pets are great but they are also a major pain in the ass sometimes. There, I said it. Don’t hate.

Today Bella spent the afternoon at my parents house, let’s all take a minute to meet all of Bella’s “buddies” over there, shall we?

Foxy Fluffilicious.

Meet Foxy, my mother’s 5 year old Pomeranian. She’s cute! She’s tiny! She’s FLUFFY! She’s……overbred and completely falling apart. Foxy has multiple problems including a collapsing trachea. She frequently has to get breathing treatments from my mother who happens to be a respiratory therapist. My mother did not CHOOSE to have a dog with breathing problems, I’m sure after a long day at the hospital treating people that can’t breathe, she really didn’t want to come home to a wheezing and gasping dog. It’s kinda like a weird cosmic joke, but whatever. Due to her breathing problems, Foxy also has anxiety issues, probably from the fact that she is in a constant state of panic because she can’t get air. We think that she is also mentally challenged because she isn’t getting enough oxygen to her brain. This animal is consistently on anti depressants and sedatives. She’s one high maintenance pooch.

Walter. The Killer.

This is Walter. We didn’t adopt this cat, we just happened to have a cat door, and this guy just started coming in and making himself at home. Walter is mighty pretty, when he isn’t beat all to shit, which is CONSTANTLY. This is a wild kitty. He is constantly in fights with other tom cats so he’s always covered in scabs and scratches. Once he got some nasty infection from a bite he got on his ear. It got to be about the size of a golf ball and my mom had to take him to the vet to get it drained. That was a good story, huh? Want me to tell it again?

This cat also catches all his own food: lizards, birds, mice, moles, and bunnies. He brings his treats in through the aforementioned cat door to share with the entire family! I once stepped on a bird skull and my mother once found a skinless rabbit that was unfortunately still alive. I’m pretty sure Walter ripped the face off of Big Bird in this picture. Little bastard.

Minnie. The obese Kitty.

This is Minnie. It’s not actually Minnie, it’s MINI. Why? Because her name is “Mini Kitty” due to the fact that she is somewhat small for a full grown cat, except that she’s obese because we overfeed her and her stomach drags the ground. No, seriously, she is fat and her belly does drag the ground, but that’s because her legs are abnormally short due to some kind of heart murmur. Mini Kitty doesn’t really do anything but cuddle and sleep all day, which in my opinion makes her the GREATEST CAT ALIVE. I still think about taking her from my mom and letting her live with us. If fact, I’m thinking about it right now, looking at this picture. Also, Mini Kitty is missing a chunk from her left ear there because Walter the Killer bit it off. I told you he was a bastard.

Forrest!

This is one HAPPY dog. This animal is an attention whore, and when he gets excited he smiles. HE ACTUALLY SMILES. My sister and I find it pretty creepy, but my mom thinks it’s the cutest ever. I’m also pretty sure this one is my mom’s favorite pet in the house right now. Me? Not so much. He’s alright. He’s just so needy, but I guess not as needy as Foxy, the breathing treatment pomeranian right?

Gloria.

Eh. Not much to say about Gloria. My sister got her just after the movie Happy Feet came out, so thats where her name came from, because she’s black and white..like a penguin…okay whatever, shut up. Gloria doesn’t do much. She just hides from everyone. She doesn’t cuddle, she doesn’t play….she’s just….eh…but pictures like this make her fun, because she is sleeping in my mother’s Christmas nativity scene. Gloria thinks she’s Jesus.

Gloria is also interesting because she once fell into our fake fireplace and my sister and I spent all night trying to save her, but that’s a story for another time. (I realize that whole statement made no sense, but when I get around to telling that story, IT WILL MAKE SENSE. I SWEAR.)

Gloria also follows in Walter’s footsteps sometimes in the catching and killing of small animals department, just today she brought home a snake. HOORAY.

Jack. Also known as Jack Attack, Jack-A-Roo and LumberJack.

Last but not least, there’s Jack. Jack was adopted in an effort to replace our long lost Chester, one of the greatest pets of all time. Thats also a story for another time. Jack and Chester haven’t really turned out to be very similar at all, but I digress. Jack lives in Cincinnati with my dad most of the time, but he travels into town some weekends, or when dad takes vacation time. Since Jack spends most of his time as an only child, being spontaneously re-introduced into this circus of insane animals nearly sends him into a panic attack every time. The poor little guy stands with one foot raised at all times and always keeps his distance from controversy.

Bella will surely get along with animals after a childhood with this gang.

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