"Fatty," as she's lovingly called, needed to see a new vet a few weeks ago.  This vet was much more thorough than the normal one, looked at Fatty's teeth and decided she needed to brush more often.  I'm not kidding.  I walked out of the office that day with a tube of seafood-flavored oral health.

It's been a few weeks and every so often I think, "I really should try to brush the cat's teeth" but, you know, it's not really something I've looked forward to.  First of all, do people really brush their cat's teeth?  Ok, my nephew did when he was about three years old, or so he claimed when someone caught sight of the family cat with white, minty foam around it's mouth. 

So last night it was me, Fatty, a baby toothbrush, and a tube of cat toothpaste together in the small bathroom.  Luckily, Fatty's previous owners had her de-clawed so it was only the back legs I had to be concerned about, as well as the teeth that I needed to brush.  Since Fatty likes food, I thought she'd willinging lap it up while I snuck the toothbrush into her mouth and cleaned up the chompers, no problem.  Right?

I'm sure anyone that's ever owned a cat knows that cats don't take too kindly to you holding their head down and forcing a brush into the mouths, seafood flavor or not.  Fatty was no exception.  I can't say that nothing was brushed because I'm sure her front top teeth are a little cleaner now, but mostly her left cheek was covered with the paste because I had to hold her with my left arm while I brushed with my right.    About two minutes into it I started feeling kind of bad about the whole incident, put her brush and paste into a baggy (as not to be confused with actual family member's toothbrushes), and let her out of the bathroom.

Later, I watched a youtube video on how to brush a cat's teeth.  Apparently it's a skill that takes about a month to develop (something  silly about earning your cat's trust) and is done with a finger brush (like your use on infants) and NOT an actual toothbrush. 

Ooops.

I spent 15 minutes writing about all the water disasters we've had in our house, but you know, why bore you.  Let's just say we had another one tonight.  A medium-sized one.  The kitchen floor this time and not related to the fish tank.  Whoever did our plumbing in this house should be shot.  And whoever trained him should be shot too. 

Sigh.

In other water-related news, our outdoor hoses are crap.  OK, so I mowed over at least one of them (they shouldn't have been in the way), but I've been hose-less for a couple of years now because I'm sick n' tired of my husband whining, "Why'd you buy another hose?" 

We had our septic tank pumped last week.   The septic guy came up and asked for a hose to clean something up (um, what?).  Anyway, I had to tell him that even though it appears we have a lot of hoses at our home, we actually have none.  Those are dead hoses he sees across the lawn.  Oh yeah they may be attached to the side of the house and by all appearances they are functioning hoses, including that highly deceptive hose-reel thing bolted to the side of the house that gives you the feeling that all is well with our outdoor watering abilities, but it's just a facade.

He said he'd make due without.

So tonight while tending to the fowl, I decided to give a hose a try.  You know how it goes, enough time goes by and you forget just how dysfunctional your gardening equipment is.  I turned on the squeaky faucet and heard water go through.  So far, so good.  I followed the hose, then the hose attached to it, and finally one more hose and lo-and-behold, water was coming out.   Granted, water was also spewing out at each hose joint, so the final product was less than powerful, but it would make do.  I dodged the spraying water as I found the end.  

It was about as powerful as, say, a water fountain you'd drink from.   I tried to put my thumb in front of it in order to get it to spray a little harder and get the green slimy stuff out of the chicken water container.  Each time I did, my leg would get drenched.  I'd stop, try to see where the water was coming from, and start spraying again.   Cold, wet leg.  What the heck?  Turns out each time I would put my thumb in front of the nozzle to increase the pressure, the cracked, weather-worn hose would spray out at me right from the side, about a foot down from the nozzle.  Nice.  So this is why this hose hasn't been used. 

Of course the alternatives are Hose Chewed by Dog, Hose Inadvertantly Melted Under Burn Pile, and Hose Rusted to Other Hose.  



There is this one bright green hose out there I remembering buying from Wal-Mart years ago.   It was really cheap and had a warning on it, something about cancer and California...  Anyway, I think the elements pretty much took care of that one.

 

It's hard enough to remember your own medications, or that of your children, but try remembering to give a CAT an antibiotic twice a day for 10 days.   It's not like the cat is going to remind you.  In fact, when the cat hears you go to the fridge and pull out something from the butter drawer on the door, she leaves the kitchen. 

When I took her the vet, I had the option of liquid or pill antibiotic.  The vet held the squirming cat's mouth open with two hands as she put her fingers past the cat's teeth and shoved a pill deep down her throat.   I chose liquid.

The liquid administration isn't much easier.  A cat won't willingly open it's mouth for a cold syringe of medication.  The trick is to put it in the "back of the cat's throat" so she won't spit it out as easily.   I have to try to crack open a little space on the side of her mouth and poke the syringe in far enough that she's sort of confused and flustered...then hope it goes down.  Tonight most of it ended up on my bedspread. 

It's funny how a cat that appears to never turn down food will avoid this tiny bit of liquid.

OK, not only did he *not* say my clock radio was ugly...but HE FIXED IT!  I had no idea I had such a handyman in my house.   So......I take back whatever I said in the last entry and am happy to report I will have another 24 years of SoundDesign awakening!

I remember when I turned 14 (OK maybe 13), I received some money for my birthday.  I went to our local hardware store and bought a gray 10-speed and a radio alarm clock.

Who knows what ever happened to the bike but I've had the radio alarm clock ever since.  This wasn't just any clock, this one also had a tape player on it (how cool was than in 1984?).   For 24 years, this thing has woken me up (except for a short time in college when I bought a Wal-Mart clock that broke not long after, then I brought my vintage clock to college with me). 

Since I've been married, we've both had our own clocks on our own sides of the bed and guess which one I've been using, even though he goes through alarm clocks at a speed of maybe one per year?

24 years.....  Till today.  Today I reached over to turn off the BEEP BEEP BEEP and all of a sudden it went completely black.  Musta bumped a cord.  No, the cord is still plugged in.  What the...  I check the back of the radio to find...

The back cord has torn.  Where two sections used to go into the radio, now there's only one, with a lot of copper wire exposed.  Not a good sign, eh.

I realize in the whole scheme of things this rates in the "minimally intrusive" category but it's like parting with an old (electronic) friend.    I only felt like posting it because I know when I tell my husband he's going to say, "Who cares?  It's ugly anyway."