Nonsense! And Shenanigans! Updates from the Dumpster Household

Y'all know about Grandmama, right? Please check out that post so you know what I'm on about here, and, you'll get to see my favorite part of that post is the comment from Dumpster Husband. 

Sally Boy with Grandmama.  T R O U B L E.

We have loads of fun in the Dumpster household, mainly because my dear sweet Dumpster Husband (DH) is so damn funny.  And this is all years before any munchkins come along, can you EVEN IMAGINE?

We do voices you see.  Which is not uncommon.  We do voices and personalities for our kitties of course, but the Grandmama thing is just a bit over the line of awesome.  And then of course we are diving into voices for the wee babes now too.  I can't tell you who does what voice exactly because we both do them all.  You enter our apartment and it just happens.  Sometimes it happens when we aren't even at home, but we are just talking for all of them.  Sometimes people get caught up in the nonsense and wind up talking back with them.  Don't blame us, it just happens.  If you've been in our place and participated in this nonsense, you know I'm talking about YOU.  And I love you for it.  AND a bunch of you here and on the Facebook page have participated in these shenanigans, SO DON'T YOU JUDGE ME.  You love it. 

Between Eliza Jane Doolittle, Sally Boy Kitty and Grandmama, we have a full house of lunatics.  My sister in law lovingly tells us, wide eyed and open mouthed, that our kids are going to be the WEIRDEST.   And then we laugh and laugh because we all know it's true.  In the most wonderful way.

Grandmama is of course, more brutal than ever in that I'm doubly knocked up and not even naturally as the good lord would want it but by the DEVIL SCIENCE and hope and love!  Not by accident like it used to be in her day, by force even, but I ACTUALLY WANTED TO GET PREGNANT like a harlot or a jezebel or a damn hussy.  LEGS IN STIRRUPS!  Medical devices!  The word INSERT was used repeatedly!  HEAVING BOSOMS EVERYWHERE!   Grandmama is horrified.  So, she stays locked in the jewelry box lately until she can open her mind a bit more and be more accepting, which we all know isn't going to happen.  I hear Sally Boy and she still do have their standing tea parties but he is really the only one who dresses up these days, and now he's really dressing up in baby clothes since those are just sitting around the bedroom WAITING TO BE WORN for gods sake. 

And now with me being doubly pregnant and TWO babies (Hall & Oates) eating my brain power - which I'm pretty sure uses up about 84% of my meager powers to begin with, things are really fun. 

Example from this morning as we're running out the door to catch the train:
*we have street cleaning in Chicago, and since we all park on the streets, they put up signs as to which day you have to be NOT PARKED on that side of the street so the sweepers can come through, Today our car is fine, but tomorrow, we have to have the car moved to the other side than it's on now and if you do it late tonight it will be a bitch to find a spot* Got all that?

DH: "It's gonna suck that we get home late and I will have to scramble to move the car."
Katy: "Can you do it now?"
DH: *silence for a moment* "Well, no, because we have to have it off this side for today's street cleaning."
Eliza: "Why did you marry such a dumb ass, sir? I've never heard such nonsense. You're better than that, sir."
Katy: "Thanks for your support, Eliza. I appreciate that coming from the kitty I rescued."
Sally Boy *yelling from the other room*: "Why don't you just move the car now?"
Katy: "That's my boy.  Thanks Sayee."

Are you getting the picture? Eliza is on Team DH, even though I rescued her 16 years ago and DH only met her about 5 years ago THEY ARE IN LUUUURRRRVE.  Sayee is USUALLY on Team Katy, but it really could go either way as he's a pretty easy little guy to get along with, but also he's not that bright.

We have a box in our place right now, like a delivery box from eBay or something that Sally Boy runs in and runs around in circles like a fookin' idiot and then walks out of all calm and cool like nothing happened.  DH named this box Idiot City.  Sally is a the Mayor of Idiot City.  He will soon have to run for re-election.  Would you vote for Sally?

In closing I will tell you that we have an Infant CPR class to attend tonight.  I'm pretty sure we will either get thrown out and banished from babydom forever, and we may be asked to hand our babies over upon delivery. OR we will rock that shit. If there is a doll involved, there WILL be trouble.  It's the doing it together and having fun doing it that I cherish the most.  All of it.  The terrifying and the hysterical.  The terrifyingly hysterical?  Anyway, the partner in life and appreciating that you've found who you are supposed to be doing life with is truly something I never thought I would have.  It all goes back to hope and gratitude and fun.  Always. 

A Very Pretty Little Reminder

Eliza Jane Doolittle.  Named after the famous character in My Fair Lady and also a song by Vince Gill, "Little Liza Jane". 

She's not just my cat.  She's a reminder of everything I've done right and wrong in my adult life.  I adopted her from the Anti Cruelty Society in Chicago in 1996.  She was tiny.  About 6 weeks old and in a cage all by herself.  They didn't know where she came from or where her siblings or mother were. She had those same huge eyes she has now, but on a much smaller kitty face.  I fell in love immediately.  She came home with me the next day to what was my first apartment when I lived on my own after graduating college the year before.  We were two pretty ladies living together in the world and making our way!

Drinking got in our way.   Drinking took everything away from us.  She didn't ask for it.  She couldn't do anything to stop it except for look at me with those big huge eyes as if to question, "why do you keep doing this every single day to us?"  I never had kids when I was a drunk, and I can't imagine the anguish moms feel for having put their kids through this devastating life.  But I had a glimpse of it with this little soul depending on me for everything and I fucked up.  Every day.  Over and over again.  It didn't mean I didn't love her more than anything in the world.  It just meant that drinking took over any logical thinking or feeling.  IT TOOK OVER AND BECAME MORE IMPORTANT THAN ANYTHING ELSE.

She was there while I was an active drunk and lost everything, in the end - even her.  She waited when I was homeless, and she was living with my parents.  She waited when I was in jail.  She waited when I got sober and was in a halfway house.  She came back to me and has loved me ever since because I can take care of her properly now.  Too much to put on a cat?  Maybe.  But I believe I see all that in her eyes.  And she's another reminder of how grateful I am for every gift I have in my life today.  A roof over our heads and money to buy us both food is never taken for granted. 

Where she is happiest.  On my dear sweet Husband.

She is really my husband's kitty nowadays.  They have a very special and sweet relationship that I'm only a tiny bit bitter about.  In reality, when he and I got together and he not only "tolerated" my cats, but FELL IN LOVE with them?  It told me a huge amount about his character and how well we would fit together.  They are his cats now too and, as far as he's concerned, they always have been.   This is one of the greatest gifts of our relationship.  I hear horror stories about couples breaking up over their pets.  It was never an issue for us.  In fact, I believe it made him want to be with me more because of these two kitties.  You remember Sally Boy's story, right?

Sally Boy Kitty on the right.  He didn't find me until AFTER I got sober.

Do I feel guilty that I had to give her up for a while?  Of course I do.  Do I think she even remembers 12 plus years ago?  No I do not.  But I do know that when I look into those huge eyes sometimes, I see where we were back then and where we are now.  We have everything we could ever want and need.  I keep my past close, and she's a big part of that.  I don't regret the past, nor do I wish to shut the door on it.  I live my amends every single day I stay sober.  And a big one of those amends happens to be to one of my cats.  That seems pretty damn good to me.

Straight from Sally Boy's Big Mouth

He's a boy.  His name is Sally.  Sally Lou Kitty, or Sally Boy or Sayee as we pronounce it. 

Kitty Yoga.

He is a total goof.  He is super sweet, but love bites and licks.  It's his thing.  He runs around and cries like a baby, LOUDLY, when he has to poop.  I will never forget the first time my now husband was at my place when we started dating and he met the cats for the first time.  I heard Sally running around crying all loud and I just started laughing, and said, "It's what he does when he has to poop.  It's the poopin' cry."  Chris just laughed and laughed.  I knew he was good.  Sally's like the ambassador of cats.  He is way more like a dog than a cat.  I don't think he knows he is a cat.  Even people who don't like cats usually like him.   He's got some issues.  Who doesn't?

Here's the story.

I got sober in October of 2001.  I lived in rehab and a women's halfway house for 6 months after that, so around July of 2002, I returned to Chicago.  No job and just trying to stay sober, I spent my time outside in the backyard reading and going to meetings. 

One afternoon an orange tabby came into the yard and unlike most stray cats in the area, he came right up to me meowing.  LOUDLY.  Not only that, he jumped right into my lap and started drinking my iced tea!

Here's the thing.  Where I was living at the time, we already had three cats.  My lovely Eliza Jane Doolittle being one:

So, day after day this orange cat would wander into the yard and sit on my lap and read with me.  I wandered around the neighborhood asking if this was anyone's cat.  I put up signs.  He looked super healthy and talked so damn much, I knew he had a lot to tell me.  But he also seemed so friendly, that I thought for sure someone had to be missing him.  I fed and watered him and he just kept coming back. 

One day though, everything changed.  He showed up, jumped in my lap and I was petting him only to find a penny sized hole in his chest.  It was shocking!  I cleaned him up and put an ace bandage around his chest and we were done for the day.  I sincerely kept thinking he had to be someone's cat.  The next day he came back and the bandage was all askew and the hole was there, gaping, looking at me.  If I didn't take care of this, who knew what would happen. 

I convinced the guy I was living with that we needed to take him to the vet.  And as a side note, if I took him to the vet, we were taking him in.  I had looked long enough for someone to claim him and nobody did.  This was the last straw. 

We went to the vet and turns out SOMEONE HAD SHOT HIM WITH A BB GUN.  My poor, loud, obnoxious, overly friendly and super needy boy had been shot.  The vet got him all patched up, put on antibiotics and sent us on our way.  He told me that I had brought him in at just the right time, as infection was setting in and had nothing been done, he would have died. 

If you ever meet Sally or have met him, you know he loves to talk about being shot. He acts like he's all gangsta and shit about it. He says something like, "Dudes, I lived on the streets and I got shot. Hey dudes, did you know I got shot?" We have heard these tales over and over. I have to remind him that I was there. He is the sissiest little guy, but he apparently did live on the streets in the city and he was shot. So there you go.


My Sally Boy.  Who I thought was a girl when I took him to the vet, turned out to be a boy.  As sissy like as he is, he survived being shot by some punks I would love to get my hands on.  He came to me for help.  He found me when I was newly sober and needed him most.  To say we have a bond is silly to some, I know.  But we helped each other. 

We have a happy little family today, as my dear Dumpster Husband fell for Sally and Eliza immediately.  I'm so grateful that we never had to deal with him not loving my cats.  They are his now too.  Eliza and he have a relationship that makes me jealous sometimes.  They are in LURVE.  I like to think Sally is my boy, when in all truth, he would love anybody who showed him attention.  So I live in denial.  Which is just fine with me. 

Things I Would Rather Do Than Go to WalMart

Divers on the Facebook page are some funny motherfuckers. 

Last time DH and I went to Wal-Mart, and to be clear, I made him go after dinner one night to buy candles.  That's all I wanted.

But we walk in and it's night time and it's a horror show. 
There were creepy people in every single row and there was a bird in the card aisle. Now I know there are birds in all big spaces - airports, malls, even the Tower gets birds. But we don't usually see them. This little bird was just sitting in the middle of the aisle, clearly something wrong. I think he was as mortified at WalMart as most of us are. You know that ass sniffing face that cats make, like they are just so offended that cat ass would smell like that?


"hmmm, I wonder what this will smell like, I bet delightful"

 


"oh my fucking christ can you believe that shit hole smells like that???"



Bill O here came up when I was searching google for "ass sniffing cat face". 

 That above is what I imagine the inner dialogue of this little bird was.  Two nice WalMart employees came over and picked the bird up and took it outside.
The thing about WalMart that freaks me out the most, and there is a lot that freaks me out, and I am not going to feel bad about being snooty in this way.  You think about all the half dressed, poorly hygienated, stank ass, greasy mofos (adult types and childy types) in WalMart, and then think about them touching EVERY SINGLE THING IN THE STORE.  I just can't deal.  I am throwing up in my mouth just writing that.  I think of cheeto/chickenwing fingers and blue mouths and just get skeeved.

Now, I am not a germaphobe.  I believe in washing my hands, a lot, and I am not one for touching things if I don't have to, but there are sites like People of WalMart for a reason.  Because terrifying people go there.  I understand it's cheap, and you have families to feed and clothe.  I am not judging you for your purchasing choices, and I won't get into things being made in sweat shops and all that stuff. 

My brother has always been so skeeved out by second hand shops, he swears we get gingivitis just from walking into one of those places. But I'm MORE skeeved out by WalMart.  I shop at Village Thrift and the Salvation Army even on occasion.  I am no stranger to used, old stuff.  But much of that is good decent stuff rather than shoes for a $1 that have barbecue sauce all over them before they even leave the store. 

There's always big fighting over whether there should be a big box store in the city, and I know, people need jobs.  I get it.  But what is it about WalMart that more so than any other store, brings out the cray cray?

In closing and before y'all yell at me about being uppity about the kinds of folks who frequent every single WalMart on the planet, I would just like to say it take A LOT to freak me out.  I accept all kinds and am quick to defend those who usually don't have a defendant.  Because I have been there.  We good?  So knock that shit talk off right now.  Read my other posts about being a homeless alcoholic and then call me snotty. 

I just feel like I would rather pay to go to a haunted house this time of year than to go get the everloving shits scared outta me by some WalMartians.  For serious.

Things I Love Thursday - Part 12



Hello!  I've missed you so very much Dumpster Divers! 

If you don't follow my every move on the Twitter or the Facebook, You don't know I've just returned from a 7 day trip to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in Kanab, Utah. 

Or as I like to call it, the happiest place on Earth.

This Things I Love Thursday will be short and sweet as I've got so much work, work to catch up on. 

I will get more written about our Sanctuary Visit shortly, ok?

Here it is.

The Thing I Love Thursday is:




This is Charmer. Doesn't he look like he has face paint on? He is a Charmer too.

FURRY LOVE.





Miss Jagger on my bed for our sleepover. Pitties are so mean!



Where would we be without furry love?  I have a hard time relating to people.  I never have a hard time relating to furries.  I don't believe in human unconditional love.  I do believe in furry unconditional love.  There are always conditions on human love.  It's true. People fail us. Over and over.  I fail people.  Over and over.  It is human to fail.  It is human to be hurt and unforgiving and wary after people have hurt us.  Furries don't see it that way, they will give us humans the benefit of the doubt over and over and over.  Even after their humans have done unconscionable things to them.  Over and over and over they will come back with only love to give and hope the best from their human.

Furries don't fail us.  And I do my damnedest to not fail them.  A big percentage of every day and every action I take and every word I speak and every word I listen to and read is about or beneficial to animals. My life is exponentially better due to the furries I have met and been inspired by. 

The time I spend at Best Friends with the cast offs and the rejects and the animals people have let or just can't deal with, is the most memorable and spirit enhancing time I ever spend. 

Don't get me wrong, I am a big fan of people too.  Sometimes.  I root for the underdog.  I am the underdog.  I relate to the underdog.



Miss Dixie has lived at Best Friends all of her 11 years.

 

Furries are the best people I know.   And for that, I am eternally grateful.