Nope... No Bodies Here

After my last post, I thought it would behoove me to survey my current abode for possible missing persons who have expired.  There were lots of places to look.

What the.....? 

Who did that to my house?  Some one must have broken in and thrown a bunch of crap in my sun room while I was laid up at Shamra's house with my broken leg.  It looks like someone tossed the place about a bit.

Everybody needs a place to park their stuff when they get home from work, but this had gotten just a tad bit ridiculous!  Good news, though.  After a week of ruthless jettisoning of useless stuff, I now have a sun room again.

Amazing what you can accomplish when you tear yourself away from the computer for a day or two.  No dead bodies and no indications that an insane person lives here.

Now... about that attic...

"So... They Toss the Place About a Bit?"

I've always been a bit of a clutter hound.  It hasn't gotten bad enough yet to win me a guest appearance on "Hoarders" but some days I look around and think that day won't be far off.   It's one of my signature cat lady characteristics.  (Minus the cats, of course.)

My house has looked this way, pretty much since we moved in.  In fact, shortly after we bought the house, we had a break-in while we were at work.  The thieves only stole some spare change out of the bedside stand.  I think they were probably having a hard time finding anything else of value in all the clutter.  Living with clutter is a great way to stymie thieves.   

 (Sorry Blair whoever you are... this picture was just too perfect... I had to use it.)

Anyway, the police came and looked around the house to file their report.  At one point, one of the officers looked back and forth and said, "So... they toss the place about a bit?"

Uh... yeaaahhhh...  THAT's what happened!  We would never leave our home this messy otherwise!  Geesh!  You'd think that would be a wake up call!   But, no.  We were undeterred in our quest for clutter supremacy.

Now, I chose my spouse precisely because he came from a home where clutter was king.  Let's just say his father was a bit "eccentric" and collected stuff.  He had his own set up for collecting, including a step stool stored in the trunk of his car, a trouble light, and some of those extending grabber things to extract stuff from dumpsters.  (I think he may have been the original dumpster diver.)

You name it, they had it... from old grocery store display racks, to a dentist's chair, to the entire phone system that was discarded from a local hospital.  They even built a warehouse out behind their house to store all the stuff that overflowed the house.  At one point, my in out-laws didn't sleep in their bed for four years because there wasn't enough room to get to it.  Seriously!  My father-out-law, bless his heart, has slept in a recliner for the past 25 years!

Later on, my spouse had some sort of a religious awakening or something and suddenly became a neat freak... on his own side of the room.  Suddenly, I was the sole cause of the chaos.  (He's also the one who turned me on to Dr Pepper and then later chastised me for becoming a Pepper fiend.)  From that day on, our marriage was doomed.  Well, that and a few other things led to its demise. 

But, you know... it did my heart some good when my son came home giggling the other day because he noticed his dad's new wife throws her crap all over on her side of the bed.  Poetic justice at its finest!

(Oh, yeah... they're keeping a special place for me in hell!)

Why Do I Smell Like Kitty Litter and Chicken Shit?

I've been a bit lax in my blog reading this past week and I apologize if I've caused you to feel unloved and neglected. But I have a good reason... I've been up to my elbows in kitty litter and chicken shit. Yes, the Catless CatLady has been off taking care of cats, chickens, dogs, fish, birds and one rooster. And I have the personal aroma to prove it.

You see, twice a year, my dear friend Shamra and her husband go to visit their grandchildren in California and I move into their house for a week to take care of their menagerie. (Apparently a good chicken sitter is hard to find these days.)

It's a relatively simple job and there are many amenities out in the country... like the woods and the pond and the meadow and a well-stocked refrigerator full of Dr. Pepper & beer, and a cozy fireplace and peace and quiet. It's not too taxing to feed the animals and bring in the mail. I can handle that. And I don't even mind picking up the chicken shit in the hen house... also known lovingly as "The Chicken Chalet". The only difficult part is minding the kitty litter.

I don't know what it is about kitty litter... I hate it with a passion. Which is why this cat lady doesn't actually own a cat. Black construction paper kitty cut outs in the windows do me just fine, thank you very much. And I just don't go into the whole nocturnal kitty romp thing. Nocturnal romps of other types are fun, but there's just something about being awakened continuously by the sound of kitty scratchings and collar jingles and a cat trying to eat my hair that I find annoying. Plus, the kitties' antics keep the dogs awake and make them think it's time to go outside to play, so then they nudge me in the face until I get up and let them out. Then I have to stay awake long enough to let them back in. (Worse, they decide to wander off and I have to put on shoes and a sweatshirt and go look for them. Three a.m. is NOT a good time for them to decide to visit the neighbors.) It's a vicious cycle.

But back to the kitty litter... it's not the delightful scent of cat shit, but the floral cover-up scent that they add to the kitty that gags me. And not only that... whenever you scoop out the poop or the cats scratch and toss the litter about, the kitty litter dust permeates the air. I must have a super sensitive sense of smell, because the scent follows me throughout the house. Blech! How do people stand this on a regular basis? Give me good old fashioned dog shit any day. It almost makes me long for "let's take a crap on the living room floor" Jasper.

So, why do I expose myself to kitty litter and chicken shit? Because it's for Shamra, who will always take Hickory the Wonder Dog at a moment's notice and for long periods of time so I can go off on grand and glorious adventures. She adores Hickory, that big slobbering lug of a dog, who drips pond water all over her house and adds his own aroma to the mix. And he feels very much at home there, so I can leave town without guilt. As much as I like to moan and groan about it, I'm still happy to take care of her critters.

Friday night I finally made it home to sleep in my own bed. And it was heavenly! I feel much more rested and alert now. The other bonus to being back in the CatLady's house is that I once again have internet service for my laptop! Out in the country they had no wireless connection to tap into. ACK! As a newly confirmed blogaddict, I was starting to twitch from blog withdrawl. I was driving 50 miles a day just to zoom back into town to post my Halloween stories and then zoom back out to the country before all the animals started messing around and wearing lampshades on their heads.

So that explains why I may have appeared to have gone missing recently. Tune in tomorrow for the photo array of the menagerie... plus some fall color action from my sojourn in the country last week.

Trains, Trains, Trains!

Theme Thursday

This week's Theme Thursday theme is "Collections." Perfect for a cat lady who's also a Connoisseur of Crap. I've collected a lot of things over the years and there's plenty I could show you from my own collections. Some items are useful, while there are many more which serve no practical purpose. I have fairly eclectic tastes, so my collections are more of a mishmash of crap. Hard to categorize them as "real" collections. But not all of the crap in the attic is mine.

Today is Vlad's birthday and in honor of the occasion, I thought I'd share one of his collections for Theme Thursday. (Warning:  This is a bit divergent from my usual posts... if you're looking for my usual cynical sense of humor, you'll have to click on the links.)  For about the first 8 years of his life, Vlad talked about nothing but trains. There were times when I thought his obsession would be the death of me and put me in danger of going to Mommy Jail. We had trains in the living room, trains in the bedroom, trains in the attic and trains in the garage.

There were Lionel trains from his grandfather.

HO trains

Playmobil trains

Lego trains

Do you have any idea how many pieces are in those suckers?

Brio trains

Thomas the Tank Engine and all his friends.

You name it, we had it. Probably a quarter of our attic is now filled with the trains. (See... not all that crap is mine! I feel vindicated!) When I go up to the attic to look for stuff, I always see a train in some corner. It brings back happy memories and sometime induces a state of melancholy. The Lionels still come out occasionally around Christmas time.

My little boy has grown up and his interests shifted from trains to locks, to flags, to cars, to guns (my least favorite of his obsessions), to motorcycles, and so on. But to me the trains still define him. No matter how big he gets (and he's pretty big at 22 and 6'6" tall) I'll always think of him in his little engineer outfit and Brio cap, playing on the livingroom floor with his trains. *big sigh*

Guess I'd better stop writing and go hit Beers of the World to buy him some unusual brews for his new collection. And this time, it's a collection we can both enjoy!

Happy Birthday, Vlad!

Cluttered Times

So, I was over at Steamy's blog this morning and noticed some interesting newspaper articles. Imagine my surprise when I began reading this particular article, which sounded strangely familiar.  

It was only last week that I was contemplating having a garage sale with a friend to raise cash for food, what with being unemployed and all.  Perhaps I should rethink that.  Not that I shouldn't sell some of my crap... I should just be a little more thoughtful about it.  Although, I do hear that you can get a pretty good price on the black market for certain items in my Connoisseur's Collection of Crap. 

I just won't invite the neighborhood kids over to play on Garage Sale Day.

Ax Man... for the "Connoisseur of Crap"

One of the hallmarks of cat ladies is their propensity to have rather cluttered homes. Most people wonder how one person can amass so much crap. I always use the excuse that it's because my parents grew up during The Depression, when people saved everything. Nothing went to waste, whether it be food, clothing, string, tin foil or other weird shit. As a child, I was constantly admonished to "clean up my plate" because of the poor, starving children in other obscure parts of the world and because I didn't appreciate what it was like to grow up in The Depression when food was scarce. Like all self respecting children, I offered to box up the lima beans and liver and send them off to those poor, starving children (because I'm generous like that.) And like all children who offer that suggestion, I sat at the table until the lima beans and liver were finally choked down. (To this day, food that enters my home is not discarded until long after it's utility as a science experiment has been thoroughly exhausted.)

Little, if anything, was ever thrown out around our house... for example, clothes that were too small were handed down to the younger siblings, regardless of gender. (I think my brother looked very fetching in the dresses we gave him.) So I learned to save everything. My house is packed to the rafters with clothes I will never wear again and furniture I might need "someday". Vlad's baby clothes will certainly still be in style when (and if) he ever has children and he'll need the old towels and linens for his first apartment.

And then I became a teacher... where there are always dioramas to be made, submarines and spaceships to fashion out of cardboard and holiday gifts to make for parents. Plus, there's the equipment for assorted science experiments as well as costumes and props for plays. Which, of course, necessitate a variety of weird "stuff".

Now, anyone can accumulate a variety of weird "stuff" through daily living. But if you want to become a "connoisseur of crap" like me, you must go to Ax Man.


My sister introduced us to Ax Man when we visited her in Minneapolis. Talk about a place to "discover the useful and unique!" This is it! It's chock full of all sorts of "stuff". Need a gas mask? A weather balloon? An iron lung? A haz-mat suit? They've got it. (Although, they say the iron lung is not actually for sale, which is very disappointing as it would have made a great "time out" space for recalcitrant children.) They even have stylish displays of creative ways to use the "stuff". But you have to look in all the nooks and crannies to find the real treasures...

(Actual picture of the interior of Ax Man.)

Trips to Ax Man became a requirement of all future visits to the Twin Cities. Half of my dinnerware came from Ax Man... leftover plastic dishes and trays from the days when airlines still served food. (I know... ancient history.)


And how about this gem...

It's not everyone who can pull the glass from stop lights out of her attic. As they say... you never know when a stop light might come in handy... like in pretend space ships.

Then there are the kazillion film canisters... great for alka-seltzer rockets.

Terrarium globes... perfect for the portholes in cardboard submarines.

Assorted colored wires, casters, the balls from inside a computer mouse, bright yellow haz-mat-banana-hats, caution tape, body parts from mannequins, wooden bowling pins, disembodied doll heads, wooden shoe lasts.... the list goes on and on.

You can see where I'm going with this, can't you? I have to keep all this stuff. It's just far too cool to throw out. Although, I confess, with all the crap in my attic and basement it does become a bit tricky to locate a particular item at any given moment. But that's beside the point. The important thing is to keep everything! Because....

"You never know when you might need it."

And hence, a cat lady is born.