My dear sweet daughter offered to clean the cat’s litter box last Saturday morning. What a sweetheart! I was sitting and eating my breakfast.
“Can I clean off the bottom really well? You don’t seem to ever really clean it that well,” she called from the bathroom.
“Sure. Of course.” I was drinking my coffee.
Lots of scrubbing noises…
“Can I just take a shower with the litter box? That way I can clean both me and the litter box at the same time!” She said.
Just then, Badass Husband wandered downstairs.
“She’s got it full of water! The cat box is on the counter full of water!!” He said.
“Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! What? No! No shower with the litter box! ” I screamed. “Did you pour the litter down the sink! Did you? Did you? ”
“No,” she said. “No, not yet!”
“NEVER PUT CLUMPING CAT LITTER DOWN THE DRAIN,” we both screamed. Complete parenting solidarity, achieved!
Then I grabbed the cat litter box full of water and ran outside and dumped it. I saved the day. Right?
And then we discussed how one goes about cleaning a cat litter box: 1. Use a scoop. 2. No water. 3. Nothing ever goes down the drain. 4. Everything goes in the trash.
It’s a little bit different from the first Birds in Beards, mainly in that the poetry is a lot better. I used all of the best old timey poets in the public domain, so they are high quality.
If you are in my Artsy Fartsy Coloring Group on Facebook, you have already seen these previews. Also, you are amazing. Everyone in that group is amazing in one way or another. 🙂
Incidentally, this has nothing to do with that, but I’m writing this outside on my tablet in the heat with these sheep, waiting for the vet to come. He is an hour and twenty minutes late! It’s hot. They were penned up in the sun, but I thought it was too hot and I leashed them and put them under a tree with me. They are panting, nonstop. One just wiped her nose on my leg. We have to get their health clearance papers to take them to the fair.
I’m working on a new coloring book. It’s portraits of colorists. Do you like to color? Would you like to be in it? Email me your picture with your favorite animal at email@example.com.
Working on the cover image now. Zanimal colored it for me.
Marilyn colored a sneak preview I put out of Birds in Beards 2: Dead Poets Edition. Didn’t she do a fantastic job? Love the crazy hair color!
No comic today, but… this is funnier, probably.
1. Decide on a theme. (In this case: Birds in Beards 2: Dead Poets.)
2. Research. Poets? Poems? Birds?
3. Decide on a subject. (In this case: John Burroughs.)
4. Decide on an animal. In this case, a Cardinal (because it is a snow bird, and Burroughs had a poem about snow birds).
5. Sketch in pencil.
7. Erase pencil.
8. Maybe I put it into a coloring book. And maybe I burn it! It all depends. Artistic Temperament. It happens.
P.S. There were two new lambs this morning: both female. I am so happy about that. They are both black— top hats! Felted top hats! This is what we will make with their wool, if they survive and thrive.
Last night, we had a wicked thunderstorm. It happened around one AM. I thought for sure the storm would cause Chyoko to finally have her lambs, but no go. Instead, the Zanimal had a crazy story to tell in the morning.
Our two cats both love the Zanimal lots. They like sleeping with her. These days, Grenix sleeps with her. Last night, though, Tigery started missing the Zanimal. Tigery attacked Grenix in the middle of the night, over Zanimal in bed, during the thunderstorm.
Their attacks were vicious and noisy, and they coincided with the flashes and bangs of the thunderstorm. Every time they attacked each other in the night, over top of Zanimal’s body, the thunder clapped. Zanimal, in her half awake state, felt as if the cats were controlling the thunder. Every time the cats attacked, the thunder clapped.
Zanimal slept late this morning. She claimed something kept her up.
There were no new lambs.
Our chest freezer broke last week, and the refrigerator broke this week- this week, when I was supposed to butcher chickens. Coincidence? I think not.
We bought a new freezer and a new refrigerator. This was the new refrigerator:
The temperature stabilized at sixty degrees. In the freezer. On the day I was supposed to butcher chickens.
Those chickens. Talking. Always talking. What are they talking about? I don’t know! I don’t speak chicken! All I know is, new refrigerators are supposed to make things cooler. And it didn’t. I mean, ten degrees cooler than the house. Basically, it wasn’t working. And I couldn’t butcher chickens. Because they would rot and we would all get salmonella and die.
We got another refrigerator to replace the first one. The first one to replace the broken one. (Not the first one, really, that was the broken one.)
It looks like this:
It works, and you know what that means. Thirty-eight degrees inside the refrigerator. Those chickens’ days are numbered.