Tag Archive: animals


I have a problem with roadkill.

At 23, I should probably not think of wild animals in terms of Disney creatures that have homes and families and feelings. I know it seems ridiculous, but I just can’t help it. In my head, I only see Bambi’s mom, or the Beaver family from the Chronicles of Narnia, or Simba and how he ran away from Pride Rock after Mufasa’s death. These poor animals have others counting on them; they have responsibilities and a family to come home to.

When I see a raccoon’s guts splayed on the side of the road or a deer laying broken on the shoulder, my heart breaks.

On my way to work last week, I burst into tears when I saw a black cat squished in the middle of the road.  I cried for the little girl who loved that cat with her whole heart, I cried for the other kitty cat friends that Blackie had, and I cried for the person who hit the kitty and killed it.

It’s so sad to me and I can’t help but be really, really upset by it.

I hoped that I had hit my quota for roadkill for the week, but it seems that the universe had other plans. Yesterday, I experienced the most traumatizing roadkill event to date. I probably won’t tell it right or be able to express how deeply upset I was by this, but I’m going to try.

I was driving to meet my brother for dinner when this occurred.  I was driving happily, listening to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on CD, and I was halfway to my destination.  Just as I was picking up my phone from the passenger’s seat of my car to call Drew to ask him where he wanted to go for dinner, it happened.

By chance, I happened to notice a deer on the shoulder of the highway.  I can’t remember now what it was that made me come to this conclusion, but something told me that something wasn’t right about this deer. For one, it was not dead.  I could see its eyes and they were wide open.  Then, all of a sudden, it was picking itself up off the pavement, only it wasn’t going as it should have.

It all happened pretty fast, and I was driving as I was watching this, but I did see enough to be traumatized.

Poor Deery was having trouble standing up and I could tell that something was very wrong with her (I’m assuming?) hindquarters.  Deery couldn’t put any weight on her back legs. She began dragging her back legs as she tried to get away from the highway and the cars driving so fast past her. I had passed her and my vision was blurry with hot tears when I had dialed Drew via speed-dial on my phone.  By the time he picked up the phone, I was in the throes of a full-blown grief-meltdown.

What was so upsetting to me was that I did not see any vehicle near her that looked like it had been hit by a dear.  I didn’t see anyone around other than me and the other cars driving past this suffering animal. I couldn’t understand how someone could hit a deer and leave it to die in such a painful and agonizing way. The fact that where she had been hit was on top of a hill worried me.  Without the ability to use her back legs, how was she to navigate that hill to get back into the wooded safe haven? I think about it now and my heart hurts. I imagine that she fell down the hill and lay at the bottom, wishing to die because of the pain.  It is terrible, but I would have preferred someone shot her or something, to put her out of her misery.  It isn’t fair.

I explained what happened to Drew through thick sobs. He laughed at me.

After crying my eyes out and having him listen to me wail wordlessly, I tried to change the subject. He didn’t because he probably didn’t want to seem insensitive since I was so obviously upset. He’s such a good brother.

When I finally got the words out to ask him where we should go to dinner, he replied, “Well there’s this new venison place…”

That’s when a sob escaped and I hung up on him. I grabbed a mostly clean napkin off the passenger seat and wiped my eyes and blew my nose.

He called back.

“That wasn’t nice,” I cried.

He was joking and he was trying to make me laugh, but I wasn’t ready yet.  So I cried on the phone some more, cursed society and contemplated calling the police (or ANYBODY!) to have them come rescue Deery (or at least end her suffering).

I didn’t call the police, but I haven’t been able to get the image of that poor deer dragging its back legs out of my head.

I just can’t handle roadkill. It really hurts my heart.

I am 36 minutes into the film Tangled.

I’ve been giggling like an idiot.

Tangled came out on DVD (and Blu-Ray- if you’re into that. We have one but I tend to forget about it….) today and you better believe I bought it.  I went straight to Target today (after I took a two hour nap, put gas in my car and remembered it was Tuesday) and purchased it. It was the only thing I bought. And let’s get real: there are at least 42 things at Target that I can easily convince myself into thinking I need on any given trip. Like, how one time I dropped 82 dollhairs and I couldn’t even explain what I bought without looking at my loot. But, alas, I practiced some self control.

It doesn’t even matter that I’m 23 years old and still have a deep, deep love for Disney movies.  Don’t hate. You know you have the same love that I do.

Speaking of Disney movies, I found something on the internet the other day that I simply MUST share with you.  It’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen.

Oh wait, that wasn’t the Disney thing I wanted to show you but it is worth sharing anyway.  I watch that video of those precious, little red pandas, like, every day and just giggle my face off. The music… it’s perfect. Good lord, I can’t get enough.

Okay, guys, here’s the Disney thing I wanted to show you.

It’s been floating around the internet for a while but I stumbled upon it the other day and immediately put that shit on facebook.

My love of Disney may make me seriously consider skipping the season finale of Teen Mom 2 tonight. And by seriously consider I mean I will skip the finale and finish watching Tangled in one sitting. Because, damn it, I’ve waited since Christmastime for this movie to be on DVD so I could see it again. And because I love Mandy Moore. And because I really don’t want to get up off the couch to get the remote to flip over to TV and turn on MTV.

What? My legs hurt.  I got my Fergie on today (“…workin’ on my fitness”).

Also, next time I’m drunk enough to humiliate myself and a) not care and/or b) not remember, I’m gonna use this: Somebody get me a glass ‘cause just found me a tall drink of water!

There is no other day that I wish more than anything that I was still in college than on St. Patrick’s Day.

I mean, most days I wish I was still in college, and I think it’s retarded that we were all dying to graduate when we were already in the part of our lives that truly is the best part. Even more retarded is that I didn’t drag out my time in college longer than the four years I was already there.

I mean, where else is it completely acceptable to literally drink all day?  I don’t just mean day drinking, tailgate style.  I mean waking up and pounding a jello shot or two and head to work only to get out at noon and immediately start drinking to catch up to where everyone else is.

A household divided: pepsi vs coke. What’s your pref??

One very important concept I learned in college is playing catch-up. Don’t do it.  Poor. Life. Choice.

Luckily, I had really good friends who reminded me to slow the fuck down and pace myself. A good friend and roommate who looked out for me and made me pb&j sandwiches (on more occasions than one) so I would have consumed something other than caffeine and alcohol when we started drinking.

Lunch of champions/functioning alcoholics!

It’s not appropriate for me to spend the entire day wasted, take a nap at 6pm and wake up an hour later to continue consuming more alcohol than is recommended by the government.  It’s not appropriate to continually lose misplace my ID and debit card only to find it in a different pair of jeans because I had forgotten I had changed pants at the last minute (I would). It’s not appropriate to drunkenly sext frat boys. Nor is it appropriate to try to steal some poor man’s golden retriever (Erica! Okay, it was mostly me.).

Oh, Mandy…!

It’s not appropriate to disappear for extended periods of time with said frat boy under the guise of “washing my hands.” It didn’t matter that Erica knew I wasn’t washing my hands.  No one washes their hands that often, or for more than 20 seconds. Or for, like, 40 minutes at a time.

Whatever.  I never said I was a good liar.

None of that is appropriate.  Anymore.

Because I’m not in college. Anymore.

Because I’m old.

I hope everyone had a safe and very happy St. Patrick’s Day!

I spent mine lunching with a member of the tripod, shopping for new makeup, hitting up the library, doing homework and now I’m going to a Sugarland Concert!

Not too shabby! 🙂

All I wanted to do was sneak by Stella and try to use food against her; a form of trickery used to entice her into interacting with Chief.

She was hovering at the inside staircase and, not wanting to disturb her, I thought I’d ninja my way downstairs using the other set of stairs. Only, when I tried to go in the garage and have Chiefy follow me (so Tam could talk Stella into coming into the kitchen), Chiefy wouldn’t come with me. He hovered at the top step and stopped. He gave me a look that said, “No fucking way, crazy lady.”

It was only when I saw the following when I realized that he was really saying “Kate, something is not right. There is a critter in my food bin. And it looks like it might want to kill you.”

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!!!

I hopped back into the house and tried to catch my breath.

There’s a fucking possum in Chief’s food! A POSSUM!! Oh my god, Mom, what do we do?!

Remember that time I talked about how I do not possess grace under fire? Yeahhhhh.

My first instinct was to find the camera while Tam poked her head out the door, armed with the swiffer. “Oy!” she yelled and then slammed the door.

I burst into laughter while she walked back into the kitchen, trying to think of what to do.

Oy? That’s your go-to?! I don’t think possums speak Yiddish!

I could not stop laughing.

But then we got serious: What the fuck do we do?!

I was against calling animal/critter control because I am under the assumption that they come to get the animal and then kill it. I swear to the heavens that the “technician” would just tell me they weren’t going to kill it but once they take it away, they totally do kill it. That’s not okay with me. I may not want it in my dog’s food bin and so close to the entrance to my home, but I do want it to be able to find its babies and significant other and live a long, healthy life in the wild.

I’m that person that cried when I ran over a squirrel on accident. I shooed a giant-ass spider out of my room and into the cool October air using a page I ripped out of Cosmo magazine because I couldn’t bring myself to kill it. I just can’t do it. I can’t bear the thought of that little so-ugly-it’s-cute creature being put to death just because it was hunting for food.

That’s like killing Aladdin.

Not everyone can be so lucky as to marry a princess in Agrabah.

So, Tam called our old neighbor, a close family friend who came to the rescue all the other times we had weird animal issues. You know, like that time we came home from London the first time to find a duck was trapped in our chimney. We tried her first suggestion: make a lot of noise. Tam banged some pots and pans together while I let Nikki talk me into contacting Animal Control because she told me that her husband said Animal Control doesn’t kill the animals they capture.

The local office was closed and the lady answering the 1-800 number calls wanted to take my information to have a “technician” call me in the morning. I was like, “Uhm, lady, I don’t want this possum in my garage with my dog’s food all night long. I’ll figure something else out. I’ll just wing it. Thanks anyway.”

I poked my head out one more time.

This little critter had to go.

That’s when shit got real.

We both put boots on, zipped ourselves into our coats and found the thickest gloves we could find.  Tam, armed with a broom this time, tried to ninja herself past the possum and sneak attack by putting the lid to the food bin back on.  It didn’t work out as planned.  I stood, like a pansy, at the door, narrating the possum’s thoughts out loud. You know, like that’s really helpful. But when the possum showed his scary teeth and started hissing, I shut the door and whined. I opened the door again and watched as Tam tried again to put the top on.

Success!!

With the lid safely on the bin, we could begin the move down the driveway. We carried the bin filled with dog food and possum all the way down the driveway and across the street, to a nice snow bank near a bundle of trees.  The plan was that we would dump the food and the possum out of the bin and then run back towards the house.  Things went according to plan in the sense that I ran like hell through the puddles of melted snow back to the house. But I realized that Tam was still back there, with the bin of food, the snow bank and the possum.  A moment later, I saw her walking towards me with the empty bin in hand.  She had surrendered the lid and the scoop used to measure Chief’s food to the possum.

We’re gonna go see if the possum has decided to give us the lid back.

Wish us luck!

We here are all fairly familiar with crazy.

I know this to be true because when you stop by Adventures from Grandma’s Attic (which, incidentally, is no longer really applicable as a title… hm, I should remedy that….) you get regular doses of crazy from this girl. You get to read all about my tendency to talk to animals, how I get overly emotional on a whim at seriously random shit, the irrational fears I possess, my paranoia about death, the blunders I have had in the kitchen, and various other bouts of crazy.

This kind of crazy is totally okay with me. I even like it.  I’m quite fond of my brand of crazy.

I’ll even be fair and say that Britney Spears’ brand of crazy, while scary and unfortunate (lest we forget the shaving of the head, the attacking of that SUV with an umbrella, and the weird “friendship” with Sam Lufti), didn’t even deter me from being a fan.

I’m an equal-opportunity fan of crazy.

The brand of crazy I’m not okay with? Tom Cruise.

Sell crazy someplace else, we're all stocked up here!

Ick.

Seriously.

Gross.

Dude, something about that couch-jumping incident just turned me off. Scientology also kinda freaks me out. I don’t know too much about it, but it seems a little cult-ish. Also, who the fuck divorces Nicole Kidman?! Back in the day, when she wasn’t addicted to Botox, she was going places and she was gorgeous. You don’t just bail on that. Unless you’re an insecure prick… Just sayin’.

With all this said, you might be surprised to know that it seems that I have come down with a case of the I-Heart-Tom-Cruise-Movies-And-Can’t-Seem-To-Get-Enough’s.

It started out innocently enough.

A few weeks ago, we bought Knight & Day on Blu-Ray. It had just been released and I was planning on staying in one Saturday night (story of my life!).

That same day, we bought Jerry Maguire on Blu-Ray because we didn’t own it.

Last weekend, I watched Top Gun for the first time.

Uhm, hello, why did NO ONE tell me Goose dies?! I HAD NO IDEA!! It was the kind of devastation I faced when I saw Up Close & Personal for the first time when I found out that Robert Redford’s character died and Michelle Pfeiffer was devastated. Oh. Em. Gee. It’s just heartbreaking. If you haven’t seen it, I apologize for ruining the movie for you, but you simply must see it. You’ll love it. I know it!

Anyway, yeah. Goose. Shit, that was sad! I really thought that it was just a love story that made Take my Breath Away really popular. I didn’t know it was an epic bromance movie too! Oh, be still my beating heart, I love bromances! They’re precious.

That brings us to today: I bought A Few Good Men from Target for $5. I love $5 movies. And A Few Good Men is a great fucking movie. I watched it the second I got home today.

And now, because I ate way too much cookie dough when I made chocolate chip cookies this afternoon, and I consumed a great amount of chocolate, I just have the need to watch Jerry Maguire.

Pretty soon I’m gonna have to go buy Rain Man, because that’s a great movie too. And Risky Business because I haven’t’ seen that and now’s as good a time as any.

It would seem that I’m a Tom Cruise fan. Officially. And there’s really not a whole lot I can do about it. It just happened.

But I’d just like to reiterate: he freaks me out.

Every weekend Tam takes Chief to Petsmart.

And every weekend I hear about how much fun Chief has at Petsmart, and how everyone who sees him just falls in love with him, and how Chief makes all kinds of puppy friends. Basically everyone has a good fucking time and I miss out.

So you can bet your bottom dollar that when I saw that I had this past Saturday off from work, I was like GUESS WHAT FUCKERS! WE’RE GOING TO PETSMART!

But we didn’t get to go to Petsmart until after I went to my group meeting for my Finance class. BUT OH WAIT. While my group meeting had been set for 10:30am at the library at school, guess who was the only one there at 10:30am at the library at school. THIS GIRL. The first dude showed up at like 11:15am, the next one strolled in at 11:40am, and the last one finally came at, like, noon. WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT PART OF 10:30AM DID THEY NOT UNDERSTAND?! AND LET IT JUST BE KNOWN: I WAS NOT THE ONE WHO SET THE TIME FOR THE MEETING! MR. 11:40 DID!

JFEHE8HFEUWDPIHFUDISAFKJDSLHAI UGHHHHHHHH!!!

Anyway, that is neither here nor there.

I just counted to ten so we could calmly and rationally move on with the Petsmart story. Because I know you’re dying to know what happened.

When we pulled in the parking lot, I was still coming down from the trauma I had experienced when Tam sneak-attacked me by taking us through the carwash. Chief was cool as a cucumber through the whole ordeal but, as always, I was a basketcase. Despite the trauma, I can’t even tell you how excited I was. It was all, yes! I finally get to see Chiefy in his puppy play place!

Puppies!!

We were not inside for three minutes before he and Tam made a bee-line for the puppies to be adopted. There were two of the cutest twinsies I had ever seen! They were lab/Australian shepherd puppies and they were 12 weeks old and precious.  Chiefy knew them from his visit last week and they sniffed each other and wiggled through the cage that separated them.

Chiefy was very, very busy and, after saying hello to his puppy mates, he decided it was time to take a look at some toys and maybe pick out a bone or two.  We sniffed out the bones but they didn’t have the kind Tam likes to buy for him so then we went to investigate the section where they had those little booties they have for pets so their feet don’t get cold in the winter. Chief tried on one but it didn’t go so well. That was when we heard all kinds of commotion coming from the twin pups.

When we made our way back towards the puppies, I saw that one was being held and one was still stuck in the cage. I immediately knew what was happening. A husband and wife duo, along with their nine year old son, was adopting only one of these precious puppies.

ONLY ONE!!

The puppy in the cage was wailing and crying. The little boy knew that this puppy was facing some hard times, and he crawled in the cage to try to comfort him. Before I knew it, giant crocodile tears were cascading from my eyes and I couldn’t even pretend something was wrong with my contacts.  I quickly got Tam’s attention and told her we were either taking that extra puppy home or we needed to get the fuck out before I A) ripped that puppy from that woman’s arms and put it back in the cage with its sibling, or B) screamed at her and told her it was cruel of her to only be bringing one of them home.

We got the fuck out.

I was in the middle of a full-blown meltdown by the time we got in the car. I couldn’t stop crying even though I was embarrassed and desperately wanted to not be sobbing over the fact that a puppy didn’t get adopted that day. In fact, I cried the whole twenty minutes it took to get home.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, Tam said, “you can’t come to Petsmart anymore.”

I think that’s probably for the best.

Our family got a very special early Christmas present.

His name is Chief. He’s 17 months old and approximately 85 pounds. He is large.

We adopted him.

Look at that face!!

He is precious.

Chief enjoys being outside. He loves the snow: eating it and rolling in it. He also has taken a great liking to the screened in porch and roaming the deck. I now refer to the screened in porch as his “play pen.” We also had to buy a new baby-gate so he doesn’t get all crazy all over the entire house when we are gone and at work.

Now’s as good a time as any to mention that Stella is not pleased. Chiefy-poo tried to climb under my mom’s bed last night just minutes after we brought him home to introduce himself to her, but she was pissed. Stella hissed at him, a lot. Then Mom got worried that he would get stuck under the bed so she called him out from under there and distracted him with a red toy with a bell in it.

After he eats, he gets a little gassy. He burps a lot, and loudly. I giggle every time.

He is heavy on his feet. When he walks, it’s always a clomp clomp clomp clomp everywhere he goes. This might annoy me if he weren’t so damn cute. And funny. He also makes a loud crash when he lays down. He just drops. It’s outrageous. I love it.

My mom took him for a walk this morning down the road to see the cows. Chief was not sure what to make of the cows.

We are still learning about each other, but I can tell you this: I’m already in love.

Admit it, you fell in love a little bit too just by looking at his pictures. 🙂

I generally disagree with people dressing their pets like they are little children or dolls.

I just think it’s unnecessary. And it’s not very nice, because, you know, the animals probably hate it.

I mean, tried to put socks on my dog one time. As much as I loved how hilarious it was to watch him try to walk, he hated it.

And another time I put a shirt on him.He peed on the shirt.

But this was the truth: each time I tried to dress him like a little person, he was not amused.

Except when I did this:

Okay, so he didn't really mind the dress.... But he totally slobered allllll over that soccer ball.

And there’s this:

This pic is adorbzzzz

Seriously,he’s not even the tiniest bit bothered by that life-jacket! In fact, he looks goooood.

My point is, generally, when I see animals wearing clothes, I feel sad for them. They have no control over it. Their owner wills for them to wear clothes and it just has to happen. Sad Face. I always just want to be like, No no no! Take that biker jacket off your cat! Take that sweater off your West Highland Terrier!

But then I saw this. I stumbled upon it when I was bored on my computer and multi-tasking (read: watching The West Wing).

All KINDS of amazing

You must visit this site to understand how spectacular this truly is.

Watch the video. I’m telling you. It’s worth it.

That is all.

Happy Thanksgiving from all of us here at my house.

And by “all of us” I mean Me, Grandma and Mom. And Stella, my satanic, life-ruiner of  a cat.

I did, however, learn something about Stella this week.

Lately, Tam has been been talking an awful lot about a neighbor’s cat who comes to visit Stella. It’s not that I didn’t believe her; I mean, sure, the cat probably does exist. I did, however, question the validity of her statements regarding Stella’s behavior towards this cat. I highly doubted that Stella even entertained the idea of having a little kitty friend, what, with her being a little bitch about everything.

Stella is not social. She is not going to just walk up to the window and become friends with this rando neighbor cat who sits on our front steps by the window and stares into the house, waiting for her.

That was exactly what Tam was saying was happening. She said our little brat of a cat had a boyfriend.

So right before I left to go celebrate the biggest bar night of the year with my girlfriends, Tam called for me to come quietly and watch as Stella spent time with her boyfriend. I crept up the steps and observed Stella sitting by the window, facing a big-ass white cat with the cutest little gray face.

It seemed I was incorrect in my assumption that Stella was incapable of having a friend.

It was precious. And Tam is convinced that this precious kitty cat friend of Stella’s is a boy but I don’t know how she could possibly know.

What I like best is that Stella is pretty much one of those princesses trapped in a tower. She can’t be an indoor/outdoor cat anymore because we are afraid she will get lost since she is unfamiliar with her new surroundings since we moved.  So, she just sits inside and has suitors come to her.

I forget the purpose of telling you this story about Stella. It was not at all related to Thanksgiving.

Interesting.

Well, happy thanksgiving to you and yours all the same. 🙂

There’s a story that seems to come up all the time at work. It gets talked about between us girls and it gets told in front of our customers. It’s all-around excellent, always appropriate story.

If dead animals and murder are always appropriate and excellent.

One morning, I was driving to work. I wasn’t running late, I wasn’t in a hurry, I wasn’t feeling rushed. I was just driving, like normal. I was probably listening to Justin Bieber. I had probably stopped at starbucks and thought it had the promise of a good day.

And then a squirrel darted across the street. And then it stopped. And it turned around, darting back the way it came. And then it stopped again. And turned around to go the way it was originally going. And then it stopped.

I watched all of this happen.  And I thought it was finally gonna cross the street. So I took my foot off the brake and started to accelerate again.

Then the little guy changed his mind one last time. I didn’t have time to stop. I wanted to, really. I can’t even tell you how badly I wanted to stop the car. But, dear readers, even with cat-like reflexes, that little squirrel couldn’t be saved. I ran the squirrel over.

I’m a murderer.

At that moment, I burst into tears.

Then, I busted out my phone and mass-texted the shit out of my phonebook. I texted my dad, my mom, two or three of my coworkers, and a couple other friends. It was highly upsetting.

My parents tried to make me feel better by sharing their roadkill woes. It didn’t work.

When I got to work, I still couldn’t shake the feeling of being a murderer.  I had stopped crying, but I still felt really bad.  My first customer asked me how I was doing, and he got an answer he definitely hadn’t been anticipating.

“Well, I ran over a squirrel this morning, so now I’m a murderer. Today’s not going how I thought it was gonna go.”

Silence.

And then my coworkers piped up with tons of laughter and did work to make what just came out of my mouth way less awkward.

It’s now a classic tale shared with all. I enjoy that this story is shared with friends and strangers alike. I enjoy that months later this story comes up out of nowhere and takes the workplace by storm. The story goes over really, really well too. There’s just something about me, I guess, that makes people find murder endearing.