Animalia

I learned a valuable lesson yesterday about what not to do while you are at work. I work from home, and yesterday the mail brought not one but two boxes from my mom. They are in the process of selling their house so she's constantly finding things that she hasn't seen for a while and asking me if I want them. That's how I now have two silver candlesticks, some dishes and a New Yorker dated on the day I was born.

I was on the phone with the Boss Man discussing an esoteric topic and opening said boxes at the same time. I'm a multi-tasker, what can I say? What I hadn't anticipated was that she would use the dreaded packing peanuts. Of course, it made sense with the delicate plates. But, I also didn't anticipate that one of the kitties, the Bad One, would find these little peanuts irresistable and would start trying to EAT them. So, now, I'm on the phone with the Boss Man, pulling half-masticated soggy packing peanuts out of the greedy little jaws of the Bad One while desperately trying to repack the rest of them before he could use his little Hungry-Hippo head to snatch some more out of the box. Lesson learned.

In case you try to argue what my father does all the time, "But honey, he's hungry!", here's a picture of his fat little behind:

We have now taken to separating him from his brother at feeding time now because he added to his rear end by eating his brother's food after shoving Fluffy out of the way before Fluffy was finished. Despite this new "diet", I swear he's getting fatter. I think he actually has feline pica given his penchant for packing tape, cardboard boxes and paper. Never fear, we keep it all out of his little jaws and he hasn't had any digestive problems so far.

No, I think he gets his extra nutrition from eating scraps out of the sink. I admit it, that Mr. X and I are pretty sloppy housekeepers, but now that we've caught him head first in the sink, we've started moving dishes straight to the dishwasher.
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On the pooch-hunt front (ooh! I rhymed!), I've come to realize that in the process of finding The One, I'm going to need some help. What this means is I'm going to have to go with an adoption agency that takes those extra steps to helping match the right person with the right dog. At your average shelter, you kind of go window shopping, for the lack of a better term, and you try the animal on for size (and vice versa) and then, assuming you pass whatever check they have, you are officially a pet owner!

When we adopted Fluffy and the Bad One as kittens, they let us out of there with two adorable kittens (who were little balls of 8-week old fluff, they were so freakin' adorable) after no more than paying some money and signing a contract. Now that I look back, I realize how trusting they were - that they trusted that we would take good care of these little guys. Which, I am very proud to say, we have. But still.

I also want to be able to be a little more picky about the temperment of the pooch - I don't particularly care about the breed, something medium sized and good natured. But, we really don't want a barker. Working from home means I'm on the phone a lot and I can't have a dog barking in the background. Nyerhe!

Recently, I've been looking at a local Golden Retriever rescue group who pretty much do everything except finger print you. I'm leaning toward this organization because they make the effort to match the dog to the person and vice versa. And, Goldens are such wonderful pooches. We wouldn't want one on the big side - I think about 50lbs is our limit, but we have a beautiful backyard that is already fenced for their frolicking pleasure and the city just opened a new dog park near us (yay!).

We have decided to put off the serious looking until after Paris. It wouldn't be fair to the pooch to get him/her and then leave for 10 days.