What Did I Do with the Money?

In case you were wondering, here are the Route 70 kittens, named for the highway where they were found. They have survived a fit of something that nearly carried them away, due to my diligence (should have said no).

But this sermon is not about kittens. It's about saving money.

Mr. J and I have always had trouble keeping up with the expenses of owning a home in Sunny Snobville. One place where we've never had money to spare is the outdoors. Around here people pay big bucks (or sweat away long hours) composing perfect front lawns and putting-green back yards.

When I was young I put a lot of hard work into making my house look like the other ones in Snobville. I bought begonias and New Guinea impatiens and marigolds and tomato plants. Nothing ever took. The only year I had a good tomato crop was the year my neighbor had a pony party, and I offered to clean up his yard. I don't like Miracle Gro, and I don't often get near enough to a pony to get good fertilizer.

By and by I got busy, had kids, had more work to do. More recently I've gotten even busier. My back yard has grown up in stuff I only half know. I've got jewel weed and milkweed, but I also have a ground cover that I call "creeping crud" that I think must be native to New Jersey. I also have wild strawberries, which I'm fairly sure are native as well.

Today I took stock of the Johnson landmass in preparation for creating a wildlife-friendly back yard full of native species. Seems like I'm already well on the way. It's not like the place is barren. It's quite brimming with the green stuff.

Tomorrow a kind lady is coming over with seedlings from a variety of native species. I have unearthed all the dirt I could get from my compost pile, and I'm really hoping I will be creating a self-sustaining environment.

The seedlings are free.

I've never spent any money on Chateau Johnson's lawn (except for mowing expenses). I've only minimally invested in annuals and tomato plants. Compared to the rest of Snobville, I've hardly cracked the safe for the green environs.

Wonder what I did with all that saved cash? Maybe I spent it on cats.

Yeah, I Know, I Know, I ... No ...

What is Annie's First Law of Volunteering? Oh! My three readers chime back : Say no! You've done enough! You work too hard! You're pulled too thin! Money is terribly tight! No! No! No!

Then someone leaves a box of kittens along the six-lane that runs between Camden and the seashore.

And I take them in.

Being a kitten foster is time-consuming, messy, and demanding. But it would take a far, far harder-hearted person than me to turn her back on any creature left so close to roaring traffic.

Therefore, give a warm, wonderful, Gods Are Bored welcome to Asbury, Brielle, and Neptune!.

Given that one foster kitten is much like another, here's a close approximation of the situation at hand. This is a batch from yesteryear whose names I have completely forgotten.

Cats on the freeway? I couldn't say no.

Night Class Resumes: Gremlins Seize Phones, Tix

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," dedicated to the proposition that no human makes it through life without being somehow annoyed by something inconsequential.

If you know someone who has never been annoyed, I sure would like to meet that person. The first thing I would do is try my damnedest to annoy. Sour grapes and all that, don't you know.

Tonight was the first meeting in a dreary round of night classes that will stretch all the way to June ... and include six Saturdays as well. Returning as our teacher is the infamous Mr. Bigwand, who has lost none of his power to pontificate due to holiday revelry.

Those of you just joining "The Gods Are Bored" need a little back story. Mr. Bigwand is a retired teacher of Advanced Placement history classes at a posh suburban school. He has been hired to teach people like me (not formally trained as teachers) who are employed by urban districts struggling to meet state standards. In other words, he knows not of what he speaks ... and speaks ... and speaks...

I didn't like Mr. Bigwand from the evening of his first sermon back in September. But he sealed his fate when, the Wednesday before Halloween, he bragged for 15 minutes about terrifying little kids with expensive, theatrical-grade horror masks. Apparently this is his favorite Halloween activity.

Tonight Mr. Bigwand waxed eloquent about the fact that "gremlins" have stolen his cell phone. Worse, they also walked off with five tickets to Wing Bowl, Philadelphia's most toxic annual show of moronic slobbery.

It was all I could do not to fall from my undersized Catholic school right-handed desk.

Our house furnace is broken, but I'm toasty warm thinking about Mr. Bigwand having to buy five more tickets to Wing Bowl. He also has to buy a new phone. Did the faeries ... errrr ... gremlins do this?

Well, we can rule out faeries. No faerie of any stripe would attend Wing Bowl. It's disgusting. And since gremlins rather enjoy watching big, mean men scare cute little toddlers, I think I will point the accusatory digit at the gremlins.

Good job, gremlins!

During this term I will be expected to conduct a 15-minute class for adults, complete with lesson plan. I can choose my topic. Of course at first I thought I would give a class on faeries. Then I thought twice. Fifteen minutes is hardly enough time to do justice to faeries.

I have fallen back on Plan B, which will be a snap to do, won't require any research, and will only demand a minimal outlay of cash.

Ladies and gentlemen (Bigwand's favorite phrase ad nauseum), I will conduct a lesson on the acquisition, care, maintenance, and relinquishment of foster kittens. I'll have them weeping in the aisles!

Wait a minute. Maybe I should give a presentation on the East Coast Vulture Festival! Drum up some business for a worthy event!

No, scratch that. The thought of seeing Mr. Bigwand at Buzzard Day is not appealing.

Cute little kittens it is.

Foster Kitten 101

Welcome to "The Gods are Bored," honoring Isis and Osiris through kitten care since 2003! I won't get a pyramid over my bones, or pots of honey and such, but those Egyptian deities are going to roll out the old welcome mat to yours truly anyway! Why, even as I type this I must stop every other word and stroke two tired kittens. Who will shortly be under a lit-up pine tree, waiting for the embrace of a sweet little girl I'll never even meet.

Say what you want about meditation, sweat lodges, magick, prayer, you name it. In my book, a gal who's putting in 60-75 hour work weeks who can still care for motherless kittens is performing an act of worship. (*TOOT TOOT!* That's me blowing my own damn horn.)

Here's a little crash course on foster kitten care.

Kitten Care 101

1. Kittens live in a rabbit hutch.

2. Kittens must stay in the rabbit hutch while humans are not watching them.

3. Contents of hutch as follows: blanket or cat bed, cat box, cat food.

4. If kittens are removed from the hutch for playtime, the cat box should be removed too. That way they can use it.

5. If kittens are placed back into the hutch for safekeeping during a long day when people aren't around, the cat box should be placed back into the hutch with them.

6. If the cat box stays outside the hutch while the kittens are locked into the hutch, things get messy.

7. So, always keep the cat box and the kittens in the same convenient location.


It usually doesn't matter to me whether or not my husband and daughter read my blog. Tonight I rather hope they will.

Happy Day

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," offering a full slate of services to discarded deities, including career counseling, emergency praise and worship, and our ever-popular "follower finder" option! Please contact us for all of your deity needs! Our operators are standing by to take your call.

About ten days ago, my friend Nettle left a message on her Facebook inquiring about a ride to Pennsauken. She said she needed to go to an animal shelter there to see a dog that was up for adoption.

Thus began a faerie-guided adventure.

Turns out (no coincidences with the fae, remember) that the shelter Nettle wanted to go to was the one where I volunteer. Sunday last, I picked Nettle up at the El stop in my town, and she, Spare and I rode over to the shelter.

Nettle tried several dogs on for size. There was "Badger," a white showy sort, brimming with personality and vigor ... and highly sought after by other potential adoptive families. Then there was "Cara." Shy. Great big, scared eyes. Cross between a pug and a chihuahua -- so, essentially the size of a cat.

I rooted for "Cara" from the beginning, because she seemed like the kind of dog who could languish in a shelter for months because it was difficult to get a read on her personality. I just had a feeling, though, that "Cara" was a good fit for Nettle.

I suppose the faeries felt the same way, because last Wednesday Nettle adopted "Cara," and yesterday Spare and I helped Nettle take "Cara" to her new home -- Philadelphia!

"Cara's" history indicates that she was transported north from South Carolina. Talk about culture shock! From Dixie to Philly in just five months ... via scenic Pennsauken, New Jersey!

After we finished filling out the paperwork on "Cara," we took her to the car for her journey out of Jersey and across the bridge to the City of Buzzardly Love. That little charmer just sat on Nettle's lap and gazed out the window with an adorable curiosity. Then she got tired and settled in for a snooze. From the first moment "Cara" seemed totally at home with her new person.

I tried to give "Cara" a crash course on living in Philly, but she didn't seem to understand when I told her to say "Boooooooooo" and "Dallas sucks," and the ever-popular "Yankees suck."

The sun was setting when we drove up Market Street past Drexel University. I said to "Cara": "Well, doggie, this is symbolic, you see. The sun is setting on your previous life, and tomorrow it will rise on a whole new era for you."

Sure enough, this morning it is perfectly beautiful here in the Delaware Valley. Not a cloud in the sky!

I feel blessed to have helped a dog find a home. This was a new experience for me. All of my experience of the Almost Home shelter is kitten-fostering. Bring them home, pamper them, take them back. It was refreshing to see how careful the staff at Almost Home is about choosing good owners for deserving pets. My kittens must all get good families as well.

Speaking of kittens. This is where the faeries really went into overdrive.

While I was waiting for Nettle to finalize her adoption of "Cara," I had to ask. I just had to ask.

Any "hissie spitties" in the cat room?

Oh yes. Four weeks old. And the staff was worried that they might get sick from being around the other cats. Would I take them?

So in addition to bringing Nettle's dog home to Philly yesterday, Spare and I took possession of two semi-tame, fluffy kittens named Reba and Ramsey. The idea is to keep them away from the sick cats until they're eight weeks old, which will be just about ... Yuletide.

I'm leaving it up to the faeries to alert the Yule elves that two kittens will be ready for delivery on December 24.

Is it any wonder that Spare and I broke our pact not to mention "that holiday" and drove home from Philly yesterday singing festive songs of a certain season?

What a happy day! Love is in the air.

Do Cats Remember?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," shamelessly devoted to felines since birth! I wish I had stuck to them always, instead of buying a macaw. You can't hear a cat meowing three blocks away through heavy traffic.

A year and a half ago, I fostered a baby kitten for the good folks at Woodstock Trading Company. I happened to walk into the store when they had just rescued the little guy from the crawlspace and were trying fruitlessly to get him to eat. He was about 10 days old.

I took care of "Monstro" for five weeks, or until he was old enough to give up bottle feeding. He was an "only kitten."

It's been 18 months, and when I go to the store, that cat seems to know me. The staff tell me that he doesn't make over anyone the way he makes over me. He always sniffs me all over very curiously and will often climb into my lap and sniff my face.

"Monstro" is the only kitten I've ever fostered that I've seen grow up into an adult cat. And yes, he has grown ... and grown ... and grown. He's got the posh life, indoor cat in a hippie store, surrounded by Grateful Dead merchandise and acres of tie-dye.

Could it be that "Monstro" remembers me? How long are cats' memories? Could he recognize my scent? My voice? Even though I only go to Woodstock about once a month?

Please advise.

My Rockin' Foster Kitten

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," big planes and short runways! Never back down from a challenge. That's what we always say.

For many years, we at The Gods Are Bored have taken in foster kittens from the local animal shelter. They can be anywhere from 10 days to three months old. The younger they are, the more fun they are, because they have to be bottle fed. Then they really bond. The older ones are "hissy spitties" that need to be tamed.

I entered this little darling in Kitten War. And she is kicking butt. She's won 69 percent of her battles, which is not shabby at all for such a mediocre picture (and mediocre tabby).

Many people object to Kitten War because they think it encourages people to allow their cats to breed indiscriminately, in order to get cute pictures. If that is true, what accounts for all the indiscriminate breeding of cats before Kitten War came along? I don't think a web site has made it worse.

So here's to Cosette, awesome Amazon of the Kitten War! Your cat might be cute, but Cosette rules.

As for her ultimate fate, Cosette was adopted by a nice family the very day she was taken to the shelter. Her sibling went with her, and the other sibling got adopted by a close family friend. You could say Cosette dominated right from the gate.

Little Annie's Orphans

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," sacred to the Egyptian pantheon! If there's a Goddess of Cats out there, She is Mighty.

Just the other day I fretted that my three foster kittens would languish in the shelter like enemy combattants, times being what they are. Nevertheless, on Sunday I had to take them in. When they start galloping, it's time.

On the way to the shelter in their coop, they did every single gross thing a kitten can do. I will not elaborate. Let's just say I was glad that the shelter stocks plenty of hand sanitizer.

So I told them goodbye and good luck. And some bored goddess was listening.

Four hours later the shelter manager called. All three had been adopted. Two went to a couple newly moved into a home. The other one went to the couple's mother-in-law, who couldn't stand the idea of breaking up the litter.

Two or three times I've had people come to the house to see foster kittens prior to adoption. But this was the first time I ever dropped a litter off and saw them adopted out before they had to spend a night under the shelter roof.

Here's to happy beginnings!

Don't forget to participate in Anne's Great Christmas Giveaway! Sign up now to receive a free strand of hopelessly tangled Christmas lights! See below.

Les Mouserables

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where darkness falls at 4:55 but gloom springs eternal.

This is one of the three foster kittens that I have at home. He's slightly older now than in the photo. In fact, he and his siblings are ready to go to the shelter.

Here in Chateau Johnson they've been cossetted and spoiled. They're allowed the run of the house (because they've learned where their box is). They fight and play, eat, curl up and sleep, wake up, run around, fight and play, eat, curl up and sleep. In the evening they crawl up on me and Mr. Johnson and fall asleep in our arms.

But they have to go to the shelter. If we kept foster kittens, this house would be overrun with cats ... and we'd be off the list as foster parents.

It's always hard to part with kittens that you've bottle-fed, or tamed, or just nurtured through an illness. But right now it's especially hard.

I read in the newspaper today that some people who have lost their jobs or their homes, or both, have been forced to surrender their pets to animal shelters. This has made the over-crowded shelters more crowded than ever.

The shelter I work for is run by a lady who won't put a dog or cat down unless they're:

1. Very old.

2. Terminally ill, or ill with a communicable disease.

3. Wild without hopes of being tamed.

4. Proven to be dangerous.

And so, her shelter is becoming crowded with incoming litters of kittens (typical for this time of year) but also incoming household pets with nice dispositions. And in these hard times, people aren't adopting new pets.

Over the years I have seen several of my bottle babies go to a cat cage in the shelter and grow up there, cooped and wretched. They always get adopted in the end, but sometimes it's a long stay in the cell.

Two of the three kittens I have now are polydactyl, meaning they have six toes on their front paws. This will make them more adoptable because they look silly. But the other one, the little wretch pictured above, is just another run-of-the-mill gray tabby cat.

There are so many.

If you know someone who is having a hard time financially, maybe you might want to leave a big sack of dog or cat food on their doorstep. If you know someone with feral cats living (and breeding) under the porch, you might want to help that person trap and spay them. At least in New Jersey, you can get a coupon from any vet that will spay a feral cat for $40.

Sorry for the downer post, but I feel the weight of all these unwanted pets on my shoulders. May the bored gods of Ancient Egypt help my foster kittens ... and all shelter cats ... find happy homes.

I'm Really It!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," mounds of mirth for what it's worth! I'm your host, Anne Johnson, the "It Girl."

"It" because I've been tagged three times for the same meme. Y'all are too kind! My taggers are: Pom, Thalia, artist of the Bored Gods, and Aquila ka Hecate. Lovely Pagan bloggers all! Blessings to them.

I'm supposed to list six random things about myself.

1. I'm having deja vu at the moment.

2. I'm raising three foster kittens for the animal shelter. Two of them are polydactyl (six toed). See photo above and count for yourself.

3. I haven't been to Berkeley Springs since last February. But I'm still its Merlin.

4. My parrot, Decibel, is downstairs ripping something to shreds.

5. If you want to befriend me on Facebook and can't find me because of my name, add "Vultures" to your list of interests and then click on it. I'm the only person on Facebook who lists vultures as an interest. Ponder that for a moment. Maybe you don't want to be my friend.

6. My faeries are mad at me. They broke my printer and flattened a tire on my car. I need to gain back their favor by taking them on a lark.

I am supposed to tag six more people, but from looking around the old sidebar, most of you have already fulfilled this command, and the rest of you are more serious than that. I'll just ask The Hillbilly Fairy if she wants to do it, all nice and polite.

Any thoughts on pacifying faeries run amok?

FROM ANNE

HEART FOREVER IN BERKELEY SPRINGS