Here's a philosophical question that occurred to me as I was making tea.
According to the teachings of Jesus, when someone does you wrong you are supposed to forgive them. Forgiveness is one of the basic teachings of Christianity.

However, according to the Bible, we're supposed to ASK for forgiveness.

So, what if someone picks a fight with you? What if that person really doesn't WANT your forgiveness? What if what that person REALLY wants is a big old fight?

Wouldn't it be more loving of you to give that person what he wants (what you BOTH want, really) by giving him a black eye?

I say that it's a gray area.

Discuss.

Labels: morality

Know what I like about living up on Lake Erie? I get 95.1, "Canada's Rock Station" in my car.

This morning I heard the weather forecast and was very disturbed, until I realized it was metric. Of course, once the weather was translated into "standard" for those of us who are too ignorant to actually LEARN the metric system, I realized that the weather in that part of Canada was going to be identical to the weather in Cleveland today. Isn't that a nice, globally minded thought? I felt sort of trendy.

In addition to disturbingly similar weather, the other day I heard a rock song about a guy who used to be a rebel but who has since grown up. He wakes up before noon because he has "things to do." I'm not sure it was a real song or some sort of novelty song but it depressed me a little. I don't read, listen to music or watch TV because I want to re-live the same crap I go through every day. As Jerry Seinfeld says "If I want a long, boring story with no point to it, I've got my life." Well said, Jerry.

In an effort to bring you something cuddly and cute, I will finish this post with a picture of Jerome (who is a girl) snuggling up Harold (who is orange.)

This morning, upon exiting the shower, I realized that the window fan was not turned on and that the bathroom was extra foggy. So I dried myself off, reached out, and touched the switch to turn the fan on. Well. That was a mistake, as I received quite a little shock. It wasn't a BAD shock---I didn't flip the circuit breaker or anything like that---but it was nasty and my hand hurt nonetheless.

I decided that perhaps there was a reason this particular fan had been found lurking in the attic, so I took a bath towel and used it to pull the plug from the wall without incident.

This is not the first time I've had an unfortunate brush with electricity, but it's the first time I have electrocuted myself not doing something stupid, so I was a little surprised. I'm sure if I hadn't dried myself off before touching the switch I would have spent the rest of the morning in St. John West Shore's emergency room, cradling my hand in a towel and wondering if my eyebrows would ever grow back.

Later this evening I was gnawing on a piece of delicious pepperoni pizza when a lump of cheese and dough failed to fully make the journey down my esophagus. This was quite uncomfortable, but I could still sort of gasp for breath around it so I wasn't TOO freaked out, until I realized that I couldn't swallow it down and I couldn't quite suction it back up. Then I panicked and tried to take a deep breath around my piece of throat pizza and realized that it was also blocking me from breathing in through my nose, and that's what I started trying to cough it up with the little air I HAD. So I dropped my paper plate (onto a chair---it was good pizza) and as Bryan came up behind me in alarm I bent over at the waist and managed to hack the damn piece up. It was frighteningly large. Now, I thought I'd chewed it well enough, but perhaps there was some cheese fusion or something, and I imagine that sort of thing could happen to anyone.

I threw out the chewed up piece and ate the rest. It WAS good pizza, after all.

Of course, now my throat really hurts and so does my nose. I'm sort of surprised after this incident, too. Usually I have a habit of coughing or laughing when eating and stuff comes up my nose, but not this time. You'd think that would be considered somewhat of an improvement, but I mean hell, if my nose is going to hurt like this I may have well at least had some hilarity value added to this story and ended up with a chunk of tomato or something.

Bryan says "It's a good thing you took care of that yourself because I'm not very good at the Heimlich." So we had a little practice session, and I feel slightly safer now.

None of these incidents were my fault. The time I fell through the wood chest---THAT was my fault. I maintain that I am just accident prone, not careless, and that these things happen to everyone at some point in their life.

Still, maybe I should extend my life insurance policy or something.

The refrigerator died.
It was only six years old, but for some reason would have cost as much to repair as it would cost just to get a new one. This means that we had to buy a brand new one, and let me say that I have never felt as old as I do now. We also bought a lawnmower (aided by my father, who knows how to repair and service them) and now my descent into homeowner hell is complete. Today we had a conversation about whether we should throw out one of the bookshelves because it's not "good quality." I know we're going to have to get another and I know I'm going to get all middle-agey about it matching the rest of the living room, which is done in light wood with sage green walls. I used to not care about things like that.

In my defense, I guess I am figuring that I will own the furniture I buy for the next fifty years, so I might as well make some effort to buy things that sort of kind of match, so that even as we replace things one by one no one will be able to tell. I mean, if the black entertainment center and the sandalwood finish entertainment center cost the same amount of money, and we have light wood floors...well...

SHUT UP! I know this is neurotic and suburban of me, and I've decided I don't care. You all can just stop judging me.

Also, I think the fact that I am living out of a cooler until the new fridge comes to be somewhat entertaining. And we still don't technically have a couch in the living room and are using dining room chairs. Maybe we're not that old and picky. Old people would have bought a couch this weekend, not spent Friday night at a going-away party drinking too much and running up and down Dive Bar shrieking after people they barely know "I FINALLY GOT CARDED! YES! I WAS CARDED! LA LA LA LA LA!" and carrying around a big old bag of candy and porn (a going away present for the former co-worker.)

I mean...not that I did any of the above. That would be un-ladylike.

Last night I got one hour of sleep. I don't know why---I felt OK (aside from being sniffly, and an extra pillow helped out a lot with that), I just wasn't tired. I tossed and turned and pet the various animals and finally shut my eyes for good around four thirty. I spent that one hour dreaming I was back in high school, realizing that despite attending eight full periods of class I was STILL somehow missing my Social Studies course, and that I was failing. This is a classic anxiety dream, although I can't for the life of me imagine what I'm anxious about. I suppose I'm sort of anxious about buying a lawnmower. I mean---what if I run over my foot with it? Is that covered under the warranty? Do lawnmowers COME with warranties? Are they better than the warranty that comes with cars? Do they still make those old fashioned manual mowers that just use a rotating blade? Does Gillette have their foot in THIS market as well?

At some point the alarm went off and somehow I managed to shower and get myself into work on time despite many of the traffic lights being out due to the mini-monsoon season Ohio is going through. I don't remember much of the day after actually arriving at work. I know I spent most of my morning on the phones with the courts, trying to cancel things we'd spent months desperately trying to get scheduled. And I faxed a lot. And I may have cursed a few times. I didn't actually seem to get much actual WORK done, unless you count breaking two printers as being "work."

I think I may be on my second wind. I've gone to the grocery store twice and tried to find a couch online and drank a third of a giant bottle of low-sodium V8 juice. I also played "tug on the sock" with the dog for five minutes and spent another ten pleading with him to stop drooling on my leg. You know? It's like those television agents who are always drooling over my talents. "Back off" I say to them. "This lady doesn't do nudity, even IF she has gigantic DD breasts. My body is a piece of art, and you can't put a price tag on that." And then they throw money at me anyway as I strut down the street. Sooooo annoying, but that's the price of fame, I guess.

I just put my hand into my giant mop of hair and came up with a bobby pin. When did I put a bobby pin in my hair? Strange.

I yoinked this from someone else. Some daily wisdom:
Zen Sarcasm

* Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me either. Just pretty much leave me the hell alone.
* The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and leaky tire.
* It's always darkest before dawn. So if you're going to steal your neighbor's newspaper, that's the time to do it.
* Don't be irreplaceable. If you can't be replaced, you can't be promoted.
* Always remember that you're unique. Just like everyone else.
* Never test the depth of the water with both feet.
* Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.
* If at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you.
* Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day. Teach him how to fish, and he will sit in a boat and drink beer all day.
* If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.
* If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.
* Some days you're the bug; some days you're the windshield.
* Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.
* The quickest way to double your money is to fold it in half and put it back in your pocket.
* A closed mouth gathers no foot.
* Duct tape is like 'The Force'. It has a light side and a dark side, and it holds the universe together.
* There are two theories to arguing with women. Neither one works.
* Generally speaking, you aren't learning much when your lips are moving.
* Experience is something you don't get until just after you need it.
* Never miss a good chance to shut up.
* Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.



In other news, I have a sore throat and my nose does not like the act of breathing in. My brilliant powers of deduction are telling me that I may be sick. Hurrah!

Up until the basement flooded in the great thunderstorm of aught-seven, we'd been living in the basement as a way to keep cool without artificially heating the house. Unfortunately, the basement is still a little damp and musty, which is certainly not good for our health. Unfortunately, neither is the upstairs, which remained at a stifling 95 despite open windows, box fans, shade trees, white curtains...you name it, we tried it. The heat was somewhat tolerable until you tried to go to sleep, which was almost impossible. We were starting to think about sleeping in a kiddie pool in the bedroom. Then, yesterday, my parents came over for dinner. And they brought a present.

Oh happy day
Oh happy day
Oh happy happy day;















Oh happy day
When LG cooled
Oh when LG cooled
When LG cooled
They cooled that August day




























Oh happy day
Oh happy day
Oh happy day
Oh happy day



















This thing will cool down the bedroom in twenty seconds...and then it shuts itself off. Efficiency, yeah!

It's too hot.

I'm not feeling well. My throat's a little sore and I'm a bit sniffly, and it's about 85 degrees outside (and almost 100 degrees inside.) My head hurts. Stephen Tyler Junior's nails are making a clicking sound on the wood flooring and it's driving me freaking insane, as is the constant fighting between him and the felines. Here's a sample of my afternoon:

Click click click. *sniff sniff* CLICKETYCLICKETYCLICKETYCLICKETY! *GROWL* *HISS* *HOWLING* Click click click. Suddenly there is a big hot, hairy face resting on my knees. "Get your bone" I tell him. "Find it!" Click click click. BANG! (It's a heavy bone) *various gnawing sounds for three seconds. Click click click. CLICKETYCLICKETYCLICK!
*sound of nose blowing---I am not the only one who has the sniffles* Repeat THIRTY FREAKING THOUSAND TIMES.

Sound pleasant?

I'd go to the library, but for some reason it's closed on Sunday. That doesn't make any sense to me at all.

Yesterday was devastatingly long.

It all started when I arrived at work. It was casual day, and I was wearing my favorite pair of jeans. They're cut slightly higher in the waist so that they make me look long and curvy, which is a pretty grand illusion to work for a $25 dollar pair of pants. There was one problem----I was getting occasional whiffs of cat pee. Now, I have four cats, and this wasn't a huge shock, except I was a bit concerned that I didn't smell it before. I live thirty miles away from my job, and you'd think I would have smelled something, right? So I asked one of the girls I worked with if she smelled anything. She said no, but I knew by this point that something was wrong. She also has a cat, and it could have been on her. We both stood there in a corner, trying to casually sniff various parts of clothing. Hers were OK (they actually smelled a wee bit like dog) but we realized (after a very flexible and totally not casual investigation on my part) that it was coming from the hem of my pants. Perhaps they were thrown into the washer with one of the soiled blankets, from back in the day when we'd had that whole disaster. Or perhaps one of the kittens had a wee accident in the floor, and my cuff had dragged into it (the most likely explanation.)

Great. The more I sat there the worse it seemed to get. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I excused myself and left the building the back way, looking purposeful, as though I'd just forgotten something in my car. I walked several blocks to the market with the intent of buying febreeze. Of course, they were out of febreeze. I did manage to score some original scent Lysol. If you ever want to feel creepy, try standing in line at 8:30 in the morning to buy nothing but a giant can of Lysol.

Back on the street, I was surrounded by people. There was no way to spray my pants and not look like a mental patient, and I had to get back to my desk anyway. I arrived out of breath, trying to hide the can, and ran into my supervisor. Apparently my attorney had gotten lost on the way to court and had been desperately calling around to see if someone could call the court for him. Oops. Well---there were at least three people in the department who could have taken the call, and a million legitimate reasons why I would be away from my desk. I'm away from my desk for a good portion of the day anyway. I offered no explanation, fearing embarrassment.

At my desk, I was faced with the problem of spraying my pants from the knee down (the scent had traveled) and not looking insane. There needed to be a reason for my area to reek of cleaning produce. I decided to spray my entire desk. And my built-in counter/credenza area. And the cabinets. Satisfied that everything smelled of Lysol, and that the spraying noise had been going on long enough to squelch suspicion, I sprayed my pants.

Unfortunately, that seemed to make it worse. I guess Lysol needs to saturate something to remove a smell like that, and until it dries, you smell of both the original odor AND of Fresh Scent, which really smells disgusting. At that point I smelled of cat urine AND cleanser, and my pants were soaked from the knees down.

Then I started coughing. I wasn't in an enclosed area, but I'd used enough that I was getting light headed.

I waved off departmental concern with a vague "oh you know how good it is to disinfect stuff...I must have breathed it in" while hiding my legs under the desk and hoping no one could see or smell them.

At some point (noonish) the smells seemed to go away, and I was no longer dizzy. Still, I got nothing done that morning.

Now, part of the reason nothing got done was that several of us had to go to a post-wedding cocktail party today, and none of us knew what to wear. This party is in honor of some higher-ups, and there was no indication of dress code on the invitation. Furthermore, it was being held at a place with a dress code. So we wondered. Formal? Semi formal? Casual formal? After some deduction it became evident that I had nothing appropriate.

I know a lot of women whine that they have nothing to wear. And I do happen to have a closet full of dresses. However: two are too...um...slutty. The rest are all bridesmaidey. I don't own a little black dress, and a skirt/top combo wasn't quite dressy enough.

After work I set out to buy a dress. It's August. Surely the stores will be filled with dresses! And cheaply!

Well.

The stores were NOT filled with dresses. At least, not appropriate dresses. There were blindingly colored sundresses, and shirtdresses, and the only things I found that were right on the money were huge on me.

I think that sometime around the time everyone started to bitch about skinny models, they changed the sizes on dresses, because every size 3 or 4 I put on (sizes that fit well two years ago) draped on me. I could grab inches of fabric in the back and pull them tight.

I know that people are bitter because runway models are emaciated. And they are. But that doesn't mean that everyone who makes it to 25 has to be over a certain weight or you're not let into the fashion club. Some people are just small, yo.

It pisses me off. If I were to call someone who was a little heavy "fat" she'd whine at me about how men like "real women" and how "real women" have curves. That's a lot of horseshit. Real women come in many different shapes and sizes. Sometimes those shapes and sizes are influenced by habit, and sometimes they're influenced by genetics. It's part of the joy of being human. We're all different. And there's someone out there for every body type. If I can't be a "real woman" because I don't need to shoehorn myself into clothing, than that girl over there who's 4'1" must not be a "real woman" either. Or that women with the size 5 feet. Guess she's just a really mature girl. Apparently it's OK to be skinny if you're really short, and it's OK to be heavy if you're really tall, because then you're a "Petite" or a "Tall" and you'll have a whole store devoted to your needs. If you're average in height but not so average in build, you're boned.

I, apparently, was boned. I don't believe that I need to shop in a specialty store or to spend $200 on a dress. Sure, I'm thinner than I was before. But there are many people much much thinner than I, and they all look gorgeous. Maybe they just have more money and can afford to shop in better stores, I don't know. Anyway, I went from a store, to a shopping center, to a mall.

Here's another side rant. The websites of certain stores and the products of certain stores vary wildly. Midway Mall is apparently in the process of shutting down, because they had no selection in any of their department stores. And that's not a picky woman speaking. I mean literally there was no selection. They had a few size 8s and a few 22s, and really nothing in-between. There were an awful lot of empty shops, too. I give that place another two years before it's gone.

Finally, frustrated and discouraged, I went to another mall. This mall wasn't much better. Maybe they're cleaning out merchandise to get new stuff in? I don't know. Just as the mall was closing, I found one thing that was maybe sort of appropriate. It's ugly, and it barely fits, but it has ties so I can sort of manipulate it. And it was affordable. (They had more appropriate things but I wasn't dropping $100 on a little black dress.) By that point I was sad. I was starting to feel that maybe the problem is me. Maybe I don't deserve to look nice anymore. Maybe this is just part of a terrible downward spiral where my hair gets crazy (check), my face is steroidey (check) and now I can't even dress nicely because there's no point in dressing up a chubby cheeked frizzy haired lunatic. I felt the universe was conspiring against me. I called Joe C and told him my story and he made me feel better by suggesting that instead of being appropriate I try to go out of my way to be as inappropriate as humanly possible. After that I realized I was being ridiculous and that it was foolish to think I could find something the night before an event in the horrible off-season of retail. August and September are the black holes of fashion, why didn't I remember that?

I also realized that there were two other women scrambling to find things as well, neither a size 8 or a size 22, and that they were likely going through the same thing.

The problem wouldn't have felt so dramatic except I hadn't been able to find a bathroom since 4:30 and at 9:15 I really had to pee. I also hadn't eaten.

I got home, threw the ugly wretched dress on a chair, and drank a whiskey and orange juice (which was delicious, although food probably would have been wise) and curled up in bed with the dog and a book. I proceeded to read a whole chapter of "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" out loud to him while he wagged his tail and rested his head on my lap. Right before I got too exhausted to keep my eyes open I started adding commentary. Every time he mentioned that Lucy kept the wardrobe door open because it would be foolish to shut oneself inside a wardrobe, I added something along the lines of "unlike Jerome, who doesn't realize it's foolish to run headfirst into walls." I wanted Steve to get the story, and I felt that adding helpful commentary would make it more real to him. Nevermind that he's a dog and stuff.

I feel much better this morning. Nothing smells like cat pee and I'm sure I won't look quite so crazy once I take a shower and try to flatten my hair a little bit.

Here's a picture of what I ended up with after my desperate search through the malls. I don't like it, but it'll have to do. Next time I'm just going to wear one of the slutty dresses, I swear.

Yesterday was a wee bit stressful. I was at work, trying to plow through the eighteen hundred files stacked behind and next to me, and a terrible thunderstorm struck. This happened last week and it didn't even strike Lorain County where I live, so I thought nothing of it for about five minutes. Then my phone rang. It was Bryan, inquiring on the whereabouts of our flashlight. The power had been flickering. And the basement was flooding.

Oh, we have a sump pump. It worked, too. Unfortunately, it could not keep up with six inches of water in ten minutes. Neither could Roto Rooter, who told us the whole city was flooded.

Super! We didn't get flood insurance (and from what my mom says about our county it's a waste of money here anyway because they always get out of paying or decline the policy) and we've been using the basement as the living room since it's so freaking hot outside. There's carpet, and some power cords, and there were two kittens living under the stairs who wouldn't know what to do with five inches of water.

Bryan managed to unplug everything and get all five of the animals into the attic and eventually the sump pump caught up and removed the excess water. Of course, the carpet down there is totally soaked and makes a gross squishing sound when you dare to step on it. We moved the electronics to the real living room where it's still blindingly hot but dry.

Sprocket, the kitten with the busted eye, had to go the vet yesterday as well. His eye suddenly looks goopier and more red, and his face always has tears smeared all over the bad side. I guess his eye and the ducts around it are just too damaged and so we have a few options. We can leave it in, and treat it twice a day with antibiotics, which isn't healthy in the long run. His eye is irritating him and he wouldn't be comfortable, and it would always been an infection risk from the constant weeping. It also looks like the damaged tear duct is bugging his sinus on that side cause his poor little nose is always leaking from just the one nostril. So for a long term solution it looks like the best option is going to be surgical removal of the eye and the ductwork and to let it heal over so he always looks like he's winking. He can't really see out of the eye anyway, and lately it's always closed against the light and irritation, so no huge loss there. Still, it's sorta gross. One of the options involved a removal by chemical injection which sounds painful and will leave the eye socket open...gross! They claim that's totally healthy to do, but I don't believe it. Unless they use anesthetic and can close the eyelid up we won't be doing that one.

They'll probably do it when he goes in to get fixed so he'll be bruising from both ends.

Lest you feel to sorry for poor little soon to be one-eye, let me say that this damaged eye has in no way stopped him from bullying his brother. He pounces and attacks, and then cries like he's the one being ambushed. He's a little tricker and is clearly in no other way disabled.

It looks like rain again outside but I'm going to just ignore it. All our stuff is up. The animals are holding their own upstairs. Besides, unless it's another freak severe thunderstorm that floods the whole city again, I don't think we'll have an issue.

*crosses fingers*

Sprocket is the mellow one on the bottom, and Harold is the alert-looking one.

I love cleaning up my computer. I find the best stuff!


(14:05:30) Joe C: immense love to you stepho.
(14:05:42) Joe C: thou art family to me.
(14:06:36) StephoGroove: does that mean I can't show you my ass anymore?

So, this will be incredibly boring for everyone except those who are cat people. I'm a nerd, so suck it up.

We have re-named the kittens. I know dad will refuse to call them anything but Popeye and Bluto, which is what he named them when they were discovered, but part of the joy of getting pets is assigning them names and seeing how they respond. The Alternately Sighted one is now named "Sprocket" after the dog on Fraggle Rock. (I just saw my first episode of Fraggle Rock EVER this morning and I am absolutely enchanted with it.) The cautiously playful one is Harold (a unanimous choice among me, Bryan, and his 10 year old nephew Ed who is here for a sleepover), after Harold from the Red Green show. Five seconds after naming him, his ears were perking up and his face was turning towards us whenever his name was called. I think he likes it. Sprocket's less picky. He would probably respond to "hey you" because he's just that mellow.

I realize we've named all our cats after either TV or the internet, and I would like to say that I TRIED to give them literary names, but they were all rejected by Bryan who is not a big reader. Alison and I also voted for "Aaron" but spelled "Aran" as an attempt to sneak a knitting term in there, but that didn't work out either.

At least we won't run into what we did with the dog, who acts just like his namesake Stephen Tyler---jumping randomly into laps, humping inanimate objects and eating straight from the trash. I think lots of caution needs to be used when naming things after existing people.

Surprisingly, Jerome (the runt who still tries to nurse) has taken the best to the little ones. She's not really affectionate, but she's not hostile either. There's a lot of sniffing, and a little apathy. Louise (usually the more maternal of the two) hissed a lot but stopped once we made her a paper football and tossed that around for awhile. She's more up front with her emotions, but easily distracted from them. They'll be kept separate for the most part and the resident cats will be given lots of treats and attention and love so that they know they're not getting pushed aside for kittens. I'm hoping they'll look after the boys and clean them up a little because they're still sort of filthy.

Poor Steve, he loves the kittens but he's just too big and excitable. They don't like him, and he's likely to accidentally hurt one with his rough, enthusiastic love. He'll need some supervision.

I realize I am on the verge of becoming a crazy cat lady, but seriously. We live on wooded property with lots of bugs and rodents outside, and keeping cats inside really does help with that. Mice won't even think of coming into a house that has cat scent all around it, and the cats will hunt bugs. They seem to be pretty good about knowing which ones to go after and which might hurt them. One of those nature things, I suppose. Also, it's not like we go out actively seeking cats. They're all hobos. As someone who usually LOOKS like a hobo, I can identify.

Besides, it could be worse. Stockpiling cats is better than, say, shooting heroin. Right? RIGHT? Hrmph.

So Jen used to do a weekly post entitled "If I Had a Boyfriend." The post stopped abruptly after she started dating my brother and actually gained a boyfriend. Still, why should a pesky thing like commitment ruin all the fun? Here's my own list:

If I had a boyfriend:

1. he would help me buy pants and dresses that fit, instead of bagging in a silly manner around the booty and chest areas.
2. he would know how to get hair dye out of linoleum.
3. he would do all vet visits, because I don't like the vet. (Bryan does this, actually.)
4. he would always keep an assortment of cheese, V8 and fresh berries in the fridge.
5. he would take me out for soup and mashed potatoes at least once a week.
6. he would hate the sun as much as I do.
7. he would think that bruises are sexy. Ditto crazy wavy hair that never stays brushed.
8. he would watch bad 80s movies with me.
9. he would kill all spiders in a manly fashion, and give me presents if I got scared.
10.he would know how to make a martini.

That's my list. Yoink at will.

Yesterday, during my mother's afternoon walk, she discovered a little gaggle of abandoned kittens. Well, not so much a "little" gaggle. She found six of them, all of them orange and fluffy and skinny and covered in fleas.

No one at the animal shelter would pick up, so she ended up taking them home.

Now Bryan and I own four cats, in two matching sets.

One of our new cats had an injury to his left eye and he's partially blind on that side, but the vet says it'll clear up on its own and he may retain a little vision. The other seems to be the big brother of the two. He likes to hiss at the dog and Bryan, but he cuddled up in my lap and napped for awhile so I think he'll be OK.

We're not allowed to introduce Jerome and Louise until tomorrow, since the flea medication the vet administered is still working. Jerome did get a little glimpse of the babies through a baby-gate we're using for quarantine, and she was wagging her tail a little so I'm sure that there'll be a day or two of some minor fighting. Still, I think she's handling it pretty well considering. No fur standing up, no teeth showing. The vet said not to worry about it.

The one-eye is named "Lemon" which is short for "Lee Lemon." Futurama fans will recognize this as the cyclops Leela's alias when she dressed up as a man to thwart Zap Branagan. We're not sure about the other cat. We want to watch him for a few days and see what his personality is like.

Lemon's really affectionate and will pretty much throw his little body onto your hand as soon as you start petting him. Non-Lemon (we've been referring to him as "Player One") is a little more stand-offish but still very sweet once you win his trust. Both like yarn.

There are four more adorable little babies available if anyone in the area is looking, hint hint, Jennifer and Alison. Who doesn't like kittens?