Tuesday, August 13, 2019

Spirited Shenanigans

Sunday evening I chased baby Tonic around until he jumped in the bathtub and I was able to close the doors to keep him in there with access to food. Then I primed the trap in the bathroom with some yummy wet food and went to bed.

The trap was still empty when I got up the next morning. Of course. So then I chased Gin around until, with a combination of luck, persistence, a towel, and some long-handled silicon-covered tongs, I was able to nudge her into a carrier and close the door.

Only one of us peed on herself in terror during this escapade, so I count it as a win.

So Gin went off to the hospital to get spayed and vaccinated/tested/flea treated/ear clipped/etc. It seems a little mean to do all that stuff at one time, but it may be the only chance we have to get it done. She doesn't really seem to be settling in to life as an inside cat.

When the vet tech called to let me know when she'd be ready to be picked up, we talked about how she seems pretty darn feral. Then, in the next sentence, he said they were sending her home with three days of oral pain medications. I'm pretty sure he could hear my eyebrows hitting my hairline over the phone.



Once back home I left baby Tonic in the tub and Gin in the rest of the bathroom. I thought I might be able to hide the meds in her food as long as I didn't have to worry about the kitten eating it. Once Tonic saw Gin, though, he started crying. I left the bathroom and about twenty minutes later he stopped crying.

When I went back into the bathroom, Gin, the cat who had major abdominal surgery just hours before, had jumped over the 6' glass doors to get into the tub, and then jumped 5 feet up onto the window ledge where she was trying to push the window open far enough to get through.

We had a chat about post-op resting, I closed the window completely, and opened the tub doors so she wouldn't be tempted to do it again. It means I can't give her the meds, but better that than the wall-climbing workouts she was doing.

Anyhow, the plan is to keep her indoors for at least another nine days so everything has a chance to heal. After that she may need to go back outside again. Tonic may be on the same plan -- we'll see how things go!

Friday, August 9, 2019

Bathtub Gin, Now with Added Tonic

Mission accomplished!

 Yes, they're looking very, very happy...

Now there are two feral cats in the bathroom. The new kitten, whose name is Tonic, has not yet learned to be stealthy. (I assume he's a boy, but I don't really know yet because I can't get within 5 feet of him.) When I walk in the room, he runs straight at me and then turns sharply to go into the cardboard box, instead of just staying hidden where he was.

Meanwhile, his mother Gin has been growling less lately. All I have to do is figure out how to get her into the cat carrier on Monday so she can go get spayed.

Tuesday, August 6, 2019

A Little Bathtub Gin

Periodically new cats show up outside my house. Most of the time they're owned and taken care of (which, in my definition, includes feeding, vaccinating, and spaying/neutering as a bare minimum) but they like to hang out in my yard. But every once in a while, new cats show up that aren't being taken care of.

So... yeah, I saw a kitten last week that looked old enough to manage on its own even though I saw it nurse a bit. I had thought the mother cat was fixed because the people at the end of the street have been feeding her, but apparently not.

Out came the trap. First I trapped a larger orange cat. There's a 75% chance that an orange cat is male, and he didn't look pregnant, so I let him go.

Next I caught the mama cat, who is probably not more than six months old. I thought she wasn't really feral because she hangs out five feet away from me when I'm gardening, so I dumped her in my (empty) bathtub to wait for her spay appointment.

 (Before she trashed the tub)

That assumption about her not being feral might not have been a good one.

Her new name is Bathtub Gin (or Ginnie, for short) and I have until Monday morning to figure out how I'm going to get her into a carrier for the ride to the vet.

 (Yep, she's super happy about this whole situation.)

Then I set the trap out to catch her kitten. I got the larger orange cat again. I let him out in the morning, then set the trap up again in the evening. Come morning I found the damn orange cat again. He was clearly irritated that it took me so long to let him out. Next day, same result, although this time the little kitten (whose name obviously needs to be Tonic, right?) was hanging out nearby and ran off when I approached to let the big idiot out of the trap.

Anyhow, I'm not really sure what I did wrong in my life, but I'm 50 years old and have a bathtub full of Gin...

Thursday, August 1, 2019

If It Hasn't Happened After 50 Years...

I've given up on memorizing this, so I just painted it on the wall in my office.



Maybe this will cut down on the number of notes littered throughout my manuscripts that say things like "why don't you know the past tense of lie yet?", but probably not.

Thursday, July 25, 2019

The Professional Home Office

We're all about rolling with the punches and making things work here at the House of Nebulopathy.

So what do you do when Effing Scooter expands his oeuvre to encompass not only paper and plastic but also computer cables? You roll with it and use an empty box to protect the work computer when you're not using it.
(Related: I'm pretty sure someone with naughty cats invented the rolltop desk.)



But if you just put a box over the important computer bits, there's a good chance E.S. will let loose in the box itself (ask me how I know!), so you have to tape it shut.

Problem solved... except then Ripley, the cat who likes to eat tape and cardboard, enters the picture.

Duct tape doesn't really hold up to this sort of thing.


Mmm, fiber...


Overall working from home is a huge improvement over going in to the office, but it has its challenges.

Sunday, July 21, 2019

The Mad Scrumble

Yesterday I met up with K-Poo and her husband (who shares a name with the big dog -- sure, they spell it differently, but maybe the big dog just doesn't spell very well). Anyhow, she claims she misses the blog entries, so here we go.

The latest news at work is that management has decided we're going to use "Scrum". If you've never heard of Scrum, lucky you! It's a management system for agile development. It's also a cult. Generally it's used for software development -- it's supposed to keep people focused on small tasks so new software can be released rapidly.

That's the theory. In practice I've noticed it seems to encourage crappy prototypes that are released to the users as finished products, causing a massive load of technical debt that will eventually cause the project to fail because nobody can change anything without breaking something else. That sounds bad, but honestly I've seen enough projects that went slowly and were over-planned and never got released because nobody could change anything without breaking something else, so... I guess what I'm saying is that this management fad probably isn't much worse than any other management fad.

Anyhow, proponents of the Cult of Scrum will talk about all the official principles and the Holy Scrum Master and how you are supposed to have Self-Organizing Teams and quick Daily Stand-Up Meetings to keep everyone informed and identify problems early on.

That's all well and good, but in a big company, by the time something like this gets shoved onto the lower ranks -- especially groups like mine where software isn't our main product -- some of the subtleties are lost. In fact, pretty much the entire spirit and 90% of the letter of the law as well.

What's left?

Yes, you guessed it. We're having daily meetings.

So far my efforts to self-organize my way off the team entirely have failed.

But here, have a picture of Guido enjoying his summer. His lymphoma is still in remission so not everything is terrible.

Sunday, June 2, 2019

I'm Sure They're Talking on Nextdoor

So it's summer again, or technically spring, I guess, but I prefer to simplify things and go with:
  • cold = winter
  • wet/green = spring
  • hot = summer
  • omg it's still hot just kill me now and also everything is dead = fall
Obviously there's a little room for overlap, and sometimes spring and winter flop back and forth, but my system makes a whole lot more sense than looking at the damn calendar and claiming that it's spring when it's supposed to be 100 F this week.

Wait, I was going somewhere with the spring/summer thing... Oh yeah. Anyhow, now that everything is growing, I feel the need to plant things around my property. Most of my garden is stuff that grows with little-to-no intervention and is either perennial or reseeds itself. Artichokes, chard, mint, blackberries... that's all stuff that takes care of itself. Some years I get tomatoes and for a while I had tomatillos that came up every year, but I think I smothered them the last time I mulched. But I like to try new things, especially in my ongoing war against the front lawn-weeds. Yet plants are expensive.

You know what's not expensive? Cuttings from other people's plants. (Obviously, this is only true if you don't get fined or shot or whatever. Your mileage may vary.) So my daily walks around the neighborhood have turned into long strolls wherein I size up everyone's landscaping and try to decide if that interesting plant a) is drought resistant, and b) will root from a cutting. Extra points if I can break off a piece from the sidewalk. My kitchen window houses a row of Ball jars with cuttings in water.

So yeah, that's what I've been doing lately. Now I just need to get a pair of scissors that will fit in my pocket and I can go cut a few twigs from a plant a few streets over...