Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Smushball
A haircut later, and three weeks of getting adjusted, our little Moose has become a comfortable member of the family.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
My Little Moose Goose...
It's official: I'm in love with two different men.
I drove down to Atlanta this past Saturday in an attempt to adopt Moose (who at the time was named "Stiffler"... not so flattering, I know). It was a long 6.5 hour drive, but I knew it would be worth it in the end. I walked into the adoption wing of the PetSmart that he was being held at, and I immediately saw him lying flat out in his cage. The girl at the adoption desk was expecting me, and she put him directly into my arms. I felt like I was holding a little cumulus cloud. The poor little guy seemed to be overtaken by the other cats; when they would all rush out to use the scratching post, he found it too tiresome to try and compete with his cellmates. I told him I was taking him home with me.
After a brief shopping trip, and filling out all the adoption paperwork, I got Moose into my carrier and took him out to the car. I was expecting constant meowing the entire 6.5 hours home, but no, not one peep! He jumped up when he heard my can of Dr. Pepper opening, but that was it. We got home at night, and it was completely dark... Ryan and Aiden weren't quite home yet. I brought him in to the front hallway, still in his carrier, as I went upstairs to fill his litterbox. This was the first time I heard his little voice yelping out... he wanted to explore! When I opened his gate, he slowly walked out, and went into the first bedroom. He stopped in the middle of it, looked around, and quietly stepped into the room next door. He repeated this for every room in the house. You could just see a thought bubble coming from his head saying, "This'll do."
We've now had him for almost three days and are just enjoying every moment. He loves to sleep and rest on the window seat in our bedroom, as well as sprawl across the center of our bed. He doesn't like lying on any of the floor pillows I got him (of course!), and always likes to sit where he can see everyone. He constantly purrs, is so very affectionate, and has the most friendly temperament I've ever witnessed in a cat. He took to his litter box immediately, and could act as a tour guide in our home. He knows it inside and out already. I think this adoption was meant to be. : )
I've scheduled his first check-up/wellness appointment for this afternoon, so we can make sure everything's in order. Exotic short/longhair cats have excessive eye tearing due to their squinty eyes and smushed faces, so when I first saw Moose, he needed a serious eye-cleaning. I've been cleaning his eyes little by little each day with a warm washcloth as to not startle him. He has his first grooming tomorrow, so hopefully that will give him a nice clean base, and then maintaining his eyes and coat will be easy sailing from there on out. He really is a little puffy bundle of joy.
Like all adopted animals brought into a good home, I think he knows he's being taken care of now. I sit there and look at him, wondering how in the world someone could cast him away... It's just unthinkable to me. I'm completely attached to this sweet guy after just three days; I've given him a home, and he's given just as much back to me. If you have the capacity to take care of a pet, adopt today. You won't regret it.
I drove down to Atlanta this past Saturday in an attempt to adopt Moose (who at the time was named "Stiffler"... not so flattering, I know). It was a long 6.5 hour drive, but I knew it would be worth it in the end. I walked into the adoption wing of the PetSmart that he was being held at, and I immediately saw him lying flat out in his cage. The girl at the adoption desk was expecting me, and she put him directly into my arms. I felt like I was holding a little cumulus cloud. The poor little guy seemed to be overtaken by the other cats; when they would all rush out to use the scratching post, he found it too tiresome to try and compete with his cellmates. I told him I was taking him home with me.
After a brief shopping trip, and filling out all the adoption paperwork, I got Moose into my carrier and took him out to the car. I was expecting constant meowing the entire 6.5 hours home, but no, not one peep! He jumped up when he heard my can of Dr. Pepper opening, but that was it. We got home at night, and it was completely dark... Ryan and Aiden weren't quite home yet. I brought him in to the front hallway, still in his carrier, as I went upstairs to fill his litterbox. This was the first time I heard his little voice yelping out... he wanted to explore! When I opened his gate, he slowly walked out, and went into the first bedroom. He stopped in the middle of it, looked around, and quietly stepped into the room next door. He repeated this for every room in the house. You could just see a thought bubble coming from his head saying, "This'll do."
We've now had him for almost three days and are just enjoying every moment. He loves to sleep and rest on the window seat in our bedroom, as well as sprawl across the center of our bed. He doesn't like lying on any of the floor pillows I got him (of course!), and always likes to sit where he can see everyone. He constantly purrs, is so very affectionate, and has the most friendly temperament I've ever witnessed in a cat. He took to his litter box immediately, and could act as a tour guide in our home. He knows it inside and out already. I think this adoption was meant to be. : )
I've scheduled his first check-up/wellness appointment for this afternoon, so we can make sure everything's in order. Exotic short/longhair cats have excessive eye tearing due to their squinty eyes and smushed faces, so when I first saw Moose, he needed a serious eye-cleaning. I've been cleaning his eyes little by little each day with a warm washcloth as to not startle him. He has his first grooming tomorrow, so hopefully that will give him a nice clean base, and then maintaining his eyes and coat will be easy sailing from there on out. He really is a little puffy bundle of joy.
Like all adopted animals brought into a good home, I think he knows he's being taken care of now. I sit there and look at him, wondering how in the world someone could cast him away... It's just unthinkable to me. I'm completely attached to this sweet guy after just three days; I've given him a home, and he's given just as much back to me. If you have the capacity to take care of a pet, adopt today. You won't regret it.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Chop Chop (Again)
Chopped off the hair! For real this time. I've been meaning to since the wedding (almost one year ago!), but just never got around to it. I even got the whole bob thing going on.*Disclaimer about the sword: Ryan and his friends all took pictures of themselves doing something ridiculous with this Nerf sword as a present for one of their buddy's birthdays (ie, Ryan was photoshop-ly slaying a dragon). It uh... is pretty awesome, so I had some fun with it afterwards. And I kinda look like I could kick some ass here, huh?
Groucho
Meet the soon-to-be newest member of our family, Moose. It's not set in stone yet, but as long as we get along when I meet him this weekend, I'm taking him home with me! He's a 7-year-old exotic longhair who is apparently very playful, follows you around like a dog, and never meets a stranger. He's an older cat, but I think Ryan and I can give him a really good home. And just look at that smush face!
Friday, August 13, 2010
Where I'm From...
Ryan and I are taking a trip up to Vermont this September (plane tickets booked!). In tribute, I'm reposting an entry I made in my old blog years ago about Vermont and my childhood. I can't wait for him to finally experience everything that I've been injecting into his brain about my home state for all these years. Enjoy!
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I'm from a little town in a little state. Hinesburg, Vermont. Nothing that Google Satellite has ever been able to identify. My little street was Silver Street, and it was my years here that my head was filled with secret paths leading to hidden hideouts, goblins, and the mysteries of bumblebee hill. You had to have quite an imagination if you grew up in Vermont; there were no neighborhoods with kids to play with, and I had the pleasure of having only two TV channels... both were fuzzy. I used to play "Ms. Adventure!" with a little twig (aka, my "wand") and roam around the woods trying to find something cool; the best I came up with was slugs.
Our neighbor was Harold, one of the friendliest old men you will ever come across. Even when I was that young, I still was able to appreciate how nice he was. He still lives in that old, green house to this day. My dad used to hit golf balls out in the front yard, and Harold never said a word about them coming onto his property. He's a good man. His front yard was filled with lilac trees and at the time, it was the sweetest most wonderful scent I had ever come across.
I had my very own raspberry bush, and it was always an exciting trip to go pick the berries in the late summertime. We also grew carrots and tomatoes, and squash and pumpkins in the fall. Everyone in town just about bought their pumpkins from 254 Silver Street; we'd leave out empty coffee cans at the end of our long gravel driveway and collected the money for the gourds on the trust factor. Even if there were only a handful of dimes and nickels, it was so exciting to me to make what seemed to be a small fortune.
Summer in Vermont was also when my dad would take us for rides in the back of the pickup truck up the street to the local diner for Creamies (aka, soft-serve ice cream). Rainbow sprinkles were my staple; my teddy bear Snowball would get a taste occasionally if I was feeling generous.
In the peak of summer (the whole two months that it was actually "hot"), we would go to my Aunt and Uncle's house at Lake Iroquois. It sounds like it would be far away, but it was just a quick little drive across town. We'd go out on the motorboat, and I'd sit in the seats in front of the driver; the boat would go up on it's side and I thought that was the definition of freedom. When you get to the other side of the lake, you can see the old 1960s camps and docks that my dad would play at when he was a kid. It's weird to think of "Good Golly Miss Molly" playing as he's jumping off into the water with all of his cousins; all the people I know to be in their 50s and 60s today. It's hard to fathom that we've all experienced childhood.
In the winter, there was no such thing as "snow days" unless there was a blizzard outside. We'd pack our snow clothes up every night, and lug them to school every day. My classmates and I would roll down the snow-covered hills for recess every afternoon, and then come back to our classrooms as red and purple as mixed berries. With the size of my cheeks back then, I looked like an oompa loompa.
As a class project, we'd go collect and measure the sap from the tree sitting outside my kindergarten classroom. I had the same teacher from K through 2nd grade. Mrs. Barber. We wrote letters back and forth once or twice a year after I moved to North Carolina, but I surprised her about 4 years ago when I went back to visit. She just screamed "JESSICA!!!!!" a moment after she saw me. I guess teachers really can imagine their little students growing into adults.
Fieldtrips usually always involved walking to our destination, whether it was the town library, going to visit the fire department, or walking up to the sugar house to see maple syrup being made. It seemed like a journey to get there back then, but it was probably only a mile away up the hill in the center of town. It's still there today, and is always closed up when it's off-season; you can peak in though and see all the empty buckets ready for fall to come again.
So many times a year, we would go on our hikes up Camel's Hump... one of the closest mountains. Every time I visit, I try to make my way up there. I can't sprint up the rocks like I used to, but I am reminded of how hard of a climb it is, yet how gratifying it is to finally reach the top. Words can't describe the view and the feeling up there. One time we met a man who was hiking nonstop through all of New England, and this was his lunch destination for the day. He'd sleep wherever he could find a dry place to pitch his tent. He looked so weathered, but you could tell from his face that he had seen some really beautiful things. I questioned whether or not I could hold up doing that. I'd like to think I could.
That's me on my last trip up there. I miss it. Have you ever found one place that recenters you when you're there? Whether it puts things in perspective or just rejuvenates your spirit? This is it for me. I feel a little chipped away each year I stay away; life has too many distractions to take time out for this, and I need to start ignoring them. I will always be a little Green Mountain girl.
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I'm from a little town in a little state. Hinesburg, Vermont. Nothing that Google Satellite has ever been able to identify. My little street was Silver Street, and it was my years here that my head was filled with secret paths leading to hidden hideouts, goblins, and the mysteries of bumblebee hill. You had to have quite an imagination if you grew up in Vermont; there were no neighborhoods with kids to play with, and I had the pleasure of having only two TV channels... both were fuzzy. I used to play "Ms. Adventure!" with a little twig (aka, my "wand") and roam around the woods trying to find something cool; the best I came up with was slugs.Our neighbor was Harold, one of the friendliest old men you will ever come across. Even when I was that young, I still was able to appreciate how nice he was. He still lives in that old, green house to this day. My dad used to hit golf balls out in the front yard, and Harold never said a word about them coming onto his property. He's a good man. His front yard was filled with lilac trees and at the time, it was the sweetest most wonderful scent I had ever come across.
I had my very own raspberry bush, and it was always an exciting trip to go pick the berries in the late summertime. We also grew carrots and tomatoes, and squash and pumpkins in the fall. Everyone in town just about bought their pumpkins from 254 Silver Street; we'd leave out empty coffee cans at the end of our long gravel driveway and collected the money for the gourds on the trust factor. Even if there were only a handful of dimes and nickels, it was so exciting to me to make what seemed to be a small fortune.
Summer in Vermont was also when my dad would take us for rides in the back of the pickup truck up the street to the local diner for Creamies (aka, soft-serve ice cream). Rainbow sprinkles were my staple; my teddy bear Snowball would get a taste occasionally if I was feeling generous.
In the peak of summer (the whole two months that it was actually "hot"), we would go to my Aunt and Uncle's house at Lake Iroquois. It sounds like it would be far away, but it was just a quick little drive across town. We'd go out on the motorboat, and I'd sit in the seats in front of the driver; the boat would go up on it's side and I thought that was the definition of freedom. When you get to the other side of the lake, you can see the old 1960s camps and docks that my dad would play at when he was a kid. It's weird to think of "Good Golly Miss Molly" playing as he's jumping off into the water with all of his cousins; all the people I know to be in their 50s and 60s today. It's hard to fathom that we've all experienced childhood.
In the winter, there was no such thing as "snow days" unless there was a blizzard outside. We'd pack our snow clothes up every night, and lug them to school every day. My classmates and I would roll down the snow-covered hills for recess every afternoon, and then come back to our classrooms as red and purple as mixed berries. With the size of my cheeks back then, I looked like an oompa loompa.
As a class project, we'd go collect and measure the sap from the tree sitting outside my kindergarten classroom. I had the same teacher from K through 2nd grade. Mrs. Barber. We wrote letters back and forth once or twice a year after I moved to North Carolina, but I surprised her about 4 years ago when I went back to visit. She just screamed "JESSICA!!!!!" a moment after she saw me. I guess teachers really can imagine their little students growing into adults.
Fieldtrips usually always involved walking to our destination, whether it was the town library, going to visit the fire department, or walking up to the sugar house to see maple syrup being made. It seemed like a journey to get there back then, but it was probably only a mile away up the hill in the center of town. It's still there today, and is always closed up when it's off-season; you can peak in though and see all the empty buckets ready for fall to come again.
So many times a year, we would go on our hikes up Camel's Hump... one of the closest mountains. Every time I visit, I try to make my way up there. I can't sprint up the rocks like I used to, but I am reminded of how hard of a climb it is, yet how gratifying it is to finally reach the top. Words can't describe the view and the feeling up there. One time we met a man who was hiking nonstop through all of New England, and this was his lunch destination for the day. He'd sleep wherever he could find a dry place to pitch his tent. He looked so weathered, but you could tell from his face that he had seen some really beautiful things. I questioned whether or not I could hold up doing that. I'd like to think I could.
That's me on my last trip up there. I miss it. Have you ever found one place that recenters you when you're there? Whether it puts things in perspective or just rejuvenates your spirit? This is it for me. I feel a little chipped away each year I stay away; life has too many distractions to take time out for this, and I need to start ignoring them. I will always be a little Green Mountain girl.
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