Please send Phish Food, ice

On the positive side of things, Indy seems to be improving. This morning he finished what was left of last night's dinner. I was off work, so for his morning walk we trekked over to my parents' house, which is a 20-minute trip at a nice mellow pace through some really pretty neighborhoods. I even remembered the camera so I could document things we saw along the way.

This squirrel clearly wants to rip my face off.

Once we arrived, Mom had 40 minutes before she had to leave for work, so she invited Indy to go out back and play with Maggie, which he did with great enthusiasm. Watching him run top speed around the yard with Mags convinced me that he must not be feeling TOO poorly. He got to play with her for about half an hour, and then we walked another 20 minutes home.

Would sir enjoy a nice dust bath? Or a mud pack?

Back home, I left a message for his vet to call me, even though he ate half of his normal breakfast portion. He napped all morning, and his doctor called around noon or so. She backed up my suspicion that for a puppy to nearly stop eating is pretty odd, but said that as long as his tongue was pink and not pale, he wasn't having any unpleasant digestive issues, and he was eating at least something, he'd probably be okay. She had me touch and push gently on his tummy, which he didn't mind. She had me check his gums, which was kind of funny. "How do his gums look? Are they nice and pink?"   "Um...they're actually sort of black."   "Oh. Well, how's his tongue?"

I do think his tongue might've been rather pale a few days ago, before he started this episode, so maybe he was a little bit sickly then and is now getting past the worst of it. I'm crossing my fingers that he's just a little put off by the heat and that he'll be fine, but I'm going to keep a close eye on him just in case.


In other, less positive news, the AC is not fixed yet. The home warranty company ordered a new compressor, and once it arrives at the contractors', they'll make an appointment to install it. It got hot and stuffy in the house today. Pretty damn miserable for me, and I don't have fur. I'm a little bit worried about the pets. We have two box fans going and the windows open, and are making sure they have plenty of water. I bought Indy some doggie "smoothies" (frozen fruit pulp in little plastic cups) even though I'd never do that under normal circumstances. I wish they'd had some kind of tunasicles for the cat, even though out of spite he probably wouldn't eat them. I'm really hoping they get the AC fixed Monday, because it's SO humid and gross in here.


Just because:

It's hard to get good photos of Indy, especially indoors, but I'm going to post this rather fuzzy one anyway. He's too cute not to share!

Photo Friday

View the entire Photo Friday collection on Flickr.

lolkitters of the week

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View the collected weekly lolkitters on Flickr.

Driveby

Well, hello. Thursday already? How did that happen?

I very nearly stabbed myself in the wrist vein with a paring knife while trying to scrape a label off a plastic jar. Clearly I should not be allowed to use sharp objects without supervision.

The air conditioner is still broken. The compressor is shot, and we're waiting on the home warranty company to order a new one and send it to the heating and air company, who will then make an appointment to install it. I'm somewhat disappointed that the home warranty company opted not to replace the entire unit, but not surprised.

Luckily it's been relatively cool the past few days, so with the blower (but not the chiller) of the AC going, open windows, and a box fan, we've managed to keep the house at a tolerable temperature.

Despite this, Indy has been on a bit of a food strike for the past three days. He's acting normal, but he's barely eating. Even though it's probably nothing at all, MB and I are both worried. I may be taking him to the vet tomorrow just to make sure nothing's wrong. I'm slightly paranoid, since one of my parents' dogs simply stopped eating one day, declined over a few months, and eventually had to be put to sleep when non-invasive tests could find nothing wrong but he had clearly given up. Now that I've admitted that, I actually feel worse. :(

Work has been kicking my ass these past few days. I love my job, but things are BUSY right now.

I have the day off tomorrow, but since I have 22 important items on my to-do list, I'm guessing there won't be much time for relaxing.

And it is definitely past my bedtime.


Indy enjoying his daily grass time.

It's not the heat, it's the stupidity

After a long, gorgeous, anomalously un-humid springtime, the lower Midwest's customary summer stickiness arrived with a vengeance on Sunday night. Unfortunately, Sunday was also when our air conditioner decided it was fine with moving air around, but not so much with the conditioning of it. Humidity levels in the house climbed, and while it wasn't quite hot enough to make us actively sweat (thankfully), we did succumb to that awful, slow oozing that tends to happen when it's just too damn muggy. (You're welcome for that...hope you weren't eating.)

I put in a call to the home warranty firm this morning, and to my surprise the dispatcher said she could send a tech out this afternoon between 12 and 5. Since today is actually the best day this work week for me to take a forced half day off, I agreed and hustled home at 5 minutes to twelve.

Now, good internets, a survey. Given a surprise half day off work but stuck in a house with a broken air conditioner, which of the following options sounds best to you:

( A ) Lounge around eating ice cream and watching bad daytime cable

( B ) Position self in front of fan with laptop and catch up on blog reading

( C ) Bake muffins. In the oven. Which is, you know, HOT.

Can you guess which one I chose?

S-M-R-T


Reading:  Bottlemania:  How Water Went on Sale and Why We Bought It by Elizabeth Royte

Playing:  one of those music-only channels on digital cable

Holiday weekend snapshots

On Thursday, Danger and I went on our annual canoe trip on the Blue River. The weather was absolutely perfect, and we spent most of the day out of sight and earshot of other boats. Even though the 12 mile trip was a little shorter than we would've preferred, we had a wonderful time.


On Friday night I kidsat for the first time in quite a while. The Kid is still into Star Wars, being outside, and these days, Scooby Doo. We played outside, ate supper while watching two episodes of Scoob, and then read books. For the first time, he let me win a Star Wars battle. We were "fighting" with ships built from Star Wars Legos (seriously, seriously cool), and he crashed his ship into the side of the kitchen cabinet on purpose.

VBG:  Oh, no! You crashed!

Kid:  I did it so you could win.

VBG:  That was nice.

Kid:  Not for me.

VBG:  Well, it was nice of you to let me win.

Seriously, though, I have NEVER been allowed to win a single lightsaber battle or blaster battle or spaceship battle. Progress!

And then he actually fell asleep in his bed before his parents got home, for the first time. Woot!




After a week of worsening shin pain, I turned to the runners on my message board for advice on how to keep walking Indy every day without hobbling like a grandma. "Shin splints!" they cried. "New shoes! Hurry!" Being cheap and broke, I really hoped they were wrong, but I also know the difference between the "no pain no gain" kind of pain and the "system failure imminent" kind. On Saturday morning, MB and I took Indy on a little outing--hippie pet store, Petsmart, and Sonic (Indy had a chili cheese coney with no chili, no cheese, and no bun). The pup thus worn out and safely tucked into his new and much bigger crate for a nap (because he's up to 41 pounds now. FORTY ONE!), we set out for the specialty running store in town. Maybe fifteen minutes later we walked out, each wearing the most expensive shoes we've ever owned.


(I have to admit, the shoes are pretty magical. I gave Indy three separate walks yesterday, and felt nary a twinge from my shins.)

Saturday night, the gang got together to celebrate Danger's birthday with super delicious strawberry-topped cake, super adorable Baby Incognito, a round of Apples to Apples and a crazy game of blended Munchkin:

Munchkin + two Munchkin expansions + Munchkin Fu and one expansion
+ Munchkin Bites + Munchkin Cthulhu + Munchkin Blender


To read about what we did Sunday, check out the garden blog.


For fun, Indy's new toy:


new toy from velocibadgergirl on Vimeo.


So, how about you? Do anything fun for the holiday weekend?


P.S. Does anybody post on Twitter? I still don't quite get it, but I'm interested in finding more people to follow.


Reading:  Certain Girls by Jennifer Weiner

Playing:  Pearl Jam radio on Pandora

Nerds are the best kind of people

MB:  I figured out how they make skim milk.

VBG:  Yeah?

MB:  They put regular milk into a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats and let it sit. Then they remove all the good sugary stuff, and you get what's left.

VBG:  You'll get used to it. Think how many tons of 2% milk I drank, and I got used to it.

MB:  Hmm.

VBG:  Actually, I wonder how many tons of milk I've had. Can we calculate? Because I drink what...about 10 gallons a month?

MB:  Yep.

VBG:  So that's 120 gallons a year times let's say 20 years, since I probably didn't drink that much when I was little. What is that?

MB:  2400.

VBG:  Holy crap! And how much does a gallon of water weigh? Eight pounds?

MB:  I think so. Wait...yeah.

VBG:  Okay...2400 times 8 divided by 2000. HOLY CRAP. 9.6 tons! I drank almost ten tons of milk!

lolkitters of the week

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View the collected weekly lolkitters on Flickr.

Photo Friday

When I started the Photo Friday project last May, I'm not sure what I expected. Now, a year later, I've taken many, many photos. With a few exceptions, only one photo per week makes it into the project. I've taken photos that I'm proud to claim, even. As I realized the one-year mark was fast approaching, I started thinking about how I'd need the perfect photo, the best photo yet, to mark the occasion. And then, as I was waiting in the drive-thru line at Taco Bell yesterday evening, something happened. I saw a fluffy little Pomeranian with its head hanging out the window of a battered old pickup truck, keeping the company of two stereotypically redneck-y men. Amused by the contrast of rough-and-tumble owner and pampered dog, I snuck a photo with my camera phone:



And since I had the camera out, I took a shot of the rosebushes lining the drive-thru lane:


As I was putting my phone away, I saw a guy two cars back hop out of his car, reach out and snap off a single rose, and then get back in the car, where he handed the rose over to his eight-year-old daughter in the passenger seat. I decided then and there that even though the camera phone photos weren't likely to be the most stellar, perfect shots, they were perfect for the one-year Photo Friday post. They represent all the moments of simple, quiet beauty that I've observed and appreciated every day over the past year of the project.


As always, you can view the entire Photo Friday collection on Flickr.

Sticking up for the underdog

Although she never hesitated to inform us that life isn't fair, I think in her heart of hearts my mom is dedicated to Making Things Fair. When we had foster siblings, everyone got the same number of toys at Christmas, the same video renting and library book privileges, the same expectations of behavior (besides being a champion of Making Things Fair, my mother above all raised us to and expected us to Act Right). Bigger kids were never permitted to pick on smaller ones, beyond a harmless level of teasing.

My parents' house came with an old-fashioned gas light on a pole in the backyard. The gas light was already out of commission by the time they moved in, but the lamp and post remained. One year a basketball went astray and busted out one of the light's glass panels, and before long a small brown sparrow built a nest inside the lamp. The sparrow laid eggs, the eggs hatched, and then Mom discovered one afternoon that a blue jay had come along and thrown all the baby sparrows out of the nest. She got a towel and put all the babies back. The mother sparrow returned to tend the babies, but the blue jay came back, too, and tossed the babies out of the nest again.

This time, Mom was not messing around. The blue jay was violating three of the most major rules of the house:  Make Things Fair, Act Right, and Pick On Someone Your Own Size. The baby sparrows went back into the nest, and then Mom taped pieces of cardboard around the lamp to create a box that enclosed all but a tiny space in the front, large enough for a mama sparrow to fly through, but much too small for a blue jay. She used the most convenient cardboard she had -- a cut-up, bright purple Luvs diaper box--and secured the whole thing with pale yellow duct tape. When it's time to defend the underdog (or underbird), who the hell cares what the neighbors think?

Ay, there's the rub

I had some freakyweird cracked-out dreams early this morning. My morning dreams tend to be more vivid than my night dreams anyway, and I guess the fact that I just finished the mad tyrant tale The Boleyn Inheritance combined with MB and I watching the ridiculously violent, absurdly fun Shoot 'Em Up last night to create some kind of spicy midnight taco snack for my psyche.

First I dreamed that someone was trying to hurt Kitters. I can't remember the exact details, but I know it involved letting an unfamiliar dog into our room, and maybe some other animals as well. I don't know if I actually sat up in bed and scooped Kitters protectively to my chest -- he was on the bed when I fell asleep, so he could've been there -- or if I just dreamed the exact feel of his fur and his weight in my arms. At some point I may have ripped the covers aside (sorry, MB) as in my dream I saw a strange man lying on the mattress beside me (GAH).

The next dream was worse. Nothing was ever explicitly stated, but it was clear that Nazi-like soldiers (too many viewings of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade on cable, perhaps?) were coming to take away all the black people and all the Jews and all the white people who knew and harbored black people and Jews. It was a very, very dark dream. At one point, it was no longer a question of if they were coming to take us, it was when they were coming. I remember very clearly trying to decide if we should leave Kitters and Indy in the house and trust that my parents would come for them, or if the soldiers were likely to hurt them, and if in that case we had time to rush the pets safely to my parents' house to hide them.


I have had only one other Nazi-type dream that I can recall, and this one luckily was not as bad as that one. Either that or I just woke up before the really bad stuff started. In the other dream, the Nazis were taking people away, but somehow I was the only one in my family who knew the truth. The buses came to take my family, and I couldn't get to them in time to warn them. As I ran toward the street corner, my parents boarded one bus and my sister another. I ran hard after the bus my sister was on, screaming her name, watching her ponytail through the bus window, but I knew it was too late. I knew I would never see her again. That was the worst dream I've ever had in my life, and the only one that ever made me wake up crying.

I don't have nightmares often, but when I do, apparently they're really nasty.

So tonight, brain, I think you owe me some unicorns and rainbows and bunnies. Fluffy ones.


Reading:  Certain Girls by Jennifer Weiner

Playing:  August and Everything After by Counting Crows

a happy accident

According to the vet's estimate, Indy is 5 months old tomorrow. Five Sundays ago, we went into Petsmart looking for a pet gate and came out with a puppy. We'd been hoping and planning for a puppy for a while, but didn't figure we'd go looking for one until close to the end of April. I'm so glad we never had the chance.


We knew that a dog would be a lot of work. What we didn't know, what these five weeks have taught us, is that with a good dog, it doesn't really feel like work at all. We didn't know how full our hearts could be, how much we would laugh, or--to be honest--how much his farts would stink.


I'm sure there will be bad times, hard times, times when he frustrates us so much that we want to scream. I'm sure there will be days when we'll look at him and wonder what were we thinking. I hope that on those days, we'll remember that there wasn't much thinking at all, just a feeling that this one was the one for us, and that we were the ones for him.


Happy five months, Indy. Many, many happy returns.

Up to no good

Photo Friday

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lolkitters of the week

Click the photo to vote for Kitters!

View the collected weekly lolkitters on Flickr.

Things to make you say Buh?

The other day I was driving down the street and a guy pulled up in the next lane over in a beat-down midsized pickup. The stereo was doing that ridiculously annoying low bass thump thing. He had one of those magnetic ribbon things stuck on the tailgate, in a black and green color scheme. I'd never seen one in those colors, so I peeked at it at the next stoplight. It said, "I Support Road Head." Good luck with that, douchehole.


I take online surveys pretty frequently as a way to earn free money for books. Some of them are quite WTF-y. I got one the other day that was about electric styling equipment. It actually said something about electric styling equipment, so it wasn't just about makeup or whatnot. The first question was "Which of the following do you own for personal use (mark all that apply): (a) boat (b) curling iron (c) iPod (d) straightening iron (e) SUV." Which of these things has NOTHING to do with styling?


We get an obscene amount of junk mail at work, pounds and pounds of catalogs that no one wants. My officemate and I have started calling to cancel the ones that everyone agrees we don't need. I called one the other day, and the lady seemed kind of confused about what I wanted. I explained that we wanted to be removed from the mailing list, and she said, "Well, okay. I guess I'll take down your name and info." After I'd given her all the information, she said, "Oh, actually? We don't have control of our mailing lists. It's done by a third party. But if you ever want to order anything from us, I'd be glad to help you out!" Uh. What?

And the world was changed

Baby Incognito arrived on Mother's Day, after pretending he'd wait around until his scheduled induction on Tuesday. Evilducky and I went to visit him (and his parents, of course) at the hospital this evening. It seems like we were just in high school a few months ago, instead of nearly ten years ago. How is it possible that one of us has a baby? Ack! And yet, somehow, the timing is perfect.

Welcome to the world, little one! Your aunties are so very glad to meet you!

asserific without pity:  Googleage returns

To celebrate the return of Googleage reports, this installment will feature only search terms for which I am the #1 hit.

"bird defecating on one's head"
This is supposed to be good luck. Uh...no, thanks.


"spork skirt"
Righteous. The fabulous Radioactive Jam is #2!


Juno Soundtrack-Listen
Tire Swing



Tree Hugger




"dogs I just like cats more"
I used to say that I didn't dislike dogs, I just liked cats more. And then? Well...


Incidentally, the #2 hit was an article on afterellen.com called "Lesbians and cats."


moldy egg salad images



how the eff do i get notes get on my blackberry?
Bwaha! Sorry, no idea.


crappy glasses
Every time I go to the optometrist, I fear that I'll answer one of the neverending series of "which looks better, one or two?" questions wrong and end up wearing bad glasses for a year. I also have trouble finding frames to fit my dainty face. Luckily, the ones I got last time are fab, and allow me to see pretty well to boot.


billy collins dog hates you
I've never found any lines to match this one, but I know of two Collins poems that involve dogs. One is sweetly funny and the other tells the truth and has always made me feel like crying, though I'm not sure it should.

Dharma
The way the dog trots out the front door
every morning
without a hat or an umbrella,
without any money
or the keys to her doghouse
never fails to fill the saucer of my heart
with milky admiration.

Who provides a finer example
of a life without encumbrance—
Thoreau in his curtainless hut
with a single plate, a single spoon?
Gandhi with his staff and his holy diapers?

Off she goes into the material world
with nothing but her brown coat
and her modest blue collar,
following only her wet nose,
the twin portals of her steady breathing,
followed only by the plume of her tail.

If only she did not shove the cat aside
every morning
and eat all his food
what a model of self-containment she
would be,
what a paragon of earthly detachment.
If only she were not so eager
for a rub behind the ears,
so acrobatic in her welcomes,
if only I were not her god.

To a Stranger Born in Some Distant Country Hundreds of Years from Now
Nobody here likes a wet dog.
No one wants anything to do with a dog
that is wet from being out in the rain
or retrieving a stick from a lake.
Look how she wanders around the crowded pub tonight
going from one person to another
hoping for a pat on the head, a rub behind the ears,
something that could be given with one hand
without even wrinkling the conversation.

But everyone pushes her away,
some with a knee, others with the sole of a boot.
Even the children, who don't realize she is wet
until they go to pet her,
push her away,
then wipe their hands on their clothes.
And whenever she heads toward me,
I show her my palm, and she turns aside.

O stranger of the future!
O inconceivable being!
whatever the shape of your house,
however you scoot from place to place,
no matter how strange and colorless the clothes you
may wear,
I bet nobody there likes a wet dog either.
I bet everybody in your pub,
even the children, pushes her away.


Cat pictures 133t
Kitters is many things, but I don't think 133t is one of them.


damn it feels good to be a gansta kitty with hat



if you want to kill a swarm of locusts, nunchucks



Duns Scotus Flaming Ring
I was planning to link to a book about Penetrating Wagner's "Ring," because the customer reviews were sidesplitting. Alas, it seems Amazon UK caught on to the rampant and hilarious sexual innuendo and deleted all the reviews. Bollocks to you, Amazon UK.


YOUTUBE SPEARGRASS SISTERS MUSIC
No clue, but it led me to this cool, creepy Keats quote:  "Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage War on his temples."


nanny ogg's blog deer baby
SQUEE!

Photo Friday

View the entire Photo Friday collection on Flickr.

lolkitters of the week

Click the photo to vote for Kitters!

View the collected weekly lolkitters on Flickr.

He could've left a nasty note instead

This morning as I was taking Indy on his daily brisk dawn walk around the neighborhood, I was thinking that things have been going pretty well. It's challenging to keep up with two pets, to be sure, but nothing we can't handle. Hell yes, a dog and a cat. Things are nice.

Then I got home and headed upstairs to take a shower. And what should I spy with my little eye? A big heap of cat turds in the center of the neatly-made guest bed. Clearly Kitters is not so pleased about our decision to move Indy (in his crate) up to our room to sleep at night. Unfortunately, I couldn't exactly march the cat into the room, point at the poop, and demand that he explain himself. I figured at least cat poop is pretty easy to clean up, and decided to hope he felt that he'd made his point.

And then, as I leaned over and picked up the poop, I noticed a very, very suspicious smell. Perhaps, I hoped wildly, he'd dripped a little pee on the bed when he laid the present out for me. But as I stripped the comforter off, it became clear that this was no drip. Oh, no. Kitters had elected to go for broke. Seriously, if I had peed on the bed myself there might've been less wee. Clearly we had been given the feline equivalent of a big fat middle finger. Hopefully we can find something to take the smell out of the mattress. If not, I may have to get myself fitted for a brand new fluffy white hat.

Warm and fuzzy

My dear friend Katie sent us the most darling, lovely, sweet housewarming gift:


You guys, it's our house!


Is that not the best, cutest idea ever? And she hand-sewed it, bless her heart. I just love it. Thanks again, Katie! <3


I feel bad that things have been thin on the ground here lately. I have all kinds of idea for posts, but it seems like every night I either have something come up that I have to do or I fall asleep with my computer on my lap and a blank screen. I will try to get back onto a good posting schedule, I promise.


Meanwhile, look who is now wearing a big boy collar:


Indy started his obedience class tonight. He's the youngest in his class at almost five months. The next-youngest dog is 6 months old. He did SO well. He was distracted and a bit sassy, but he was surrounded by a bunch of other dogs, and some of the older dogs were "bad," too.

The class is made up of two yellow Labs (one is a freaking MOOSE. He weighs at least 80 pounds), two German Shepherds (one is the other puppy), a Cairn terrier, a SASSY Chihuahua, and a gorgeous little Papillon. I'm pretty sure our boy is the only mutt. Represent!

All the dogs seem very sweet, and I think it's going to be a really good experience for Indy (and for MB and for me). Yay for doggie school!


And look at this cat:


Totally chilling while the dog sleeps not two feet away. Rock it out, Kitters. Rock it out.



Reading:  The Boleyn Inheritance by Philippa Gregory

Playing:  Eve 6

Playdate

Indy had a really big day today. My cousin Amethyst's oldest daughter had her First Communion, and they had a cookout lunch at the park to celebrate. We brought Indy along, and so he got to meet cousins and cousins' kids and had some socialization time. He did really well and everyone loved him (of course!). After the cookout, we brought his crate back to the house and then walked with him over to my parents' house so he could meet Maggie and Mom and Dad's husky, Tasia.


I cannot believe how freaking huge Maggie Wags is now.
She's as tall as Tasia and weighs 40 pounds!

They played pretty well together, even though Indy is only about half her size and got completely steamrolled by her quite a few times. Even when she'd run him over and send him tumbling, he'd jump back up and get right back into it.

Most of the action shots turned out like this.

Big dog, little dog, old dog


Something tells me this is the start of a beautiful friendship.


New posts at the garden blog and the book blog!

A turn for the worse

I am sorry to report that the rabbits did not make it. They were fine Thursday night. Yesterday there were several heavy spells of rain, and when I got home from work and checked on the nest, there wasn't any movement. As I shifted aside the sodden grass and fur, I found that all the babies except one had died. I don't really know for sure, but I'm guessing the hollow filled with water temporarily and they drowned, they suffocated when the wet nest lining got packed down around them, or they simply got too cold. Yesterday was not the greatest day to start with, and pulling six tiny dead bodies out of that hopeful little nest made it pretty close to awful.

There were seven babies in all, and only one, the one closest to the top, was still hanging on. I buried the dead ones. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving the live one in with his cold and quiet siblings. I was hoping that the mother would come back and would keep tending the last little guy. I put some dry leaves in the nest, and then an old dishtowel. There was more rain coming, so I folded the towel over to create a sort of canopy and then covered that with more leaves, hoping the rain wouldn't soak down into the towel. When I checked on the last rabbit a few hours later, he was still breathing. If he died, I reasoned, at least he would die warm and dry and protected.

I'm not sure if the mother ever came back. When I took Indy out for his morning walk today, I stopped by the nest and found that the last baby had slipped away. I haven't buried him yet, because I want to believe that I was wrong and that he was just holding still, not really dead. I know the loss of a handful of common rabbits is not so much, nothing that the larger world will ever notice. I know the mother will have more babies this summer, may already be on her way to getting pregnant again. I know rabbits don't have emotions and so the mother won't be sad about her babies dying. I also know that I truly wanted them to make it. I wanted with all my heart for them to grow strong and leave the nest to fend for themselves, even if it meant my garden was in constant danger of becoming an all-hours bunny buffet.

Much is made of the so-called "miracle" of life, and the baby rabbits felt like a manifestation of that, like a connection to the almost-unseen whirlwind of nature that we move through every day. As much as I regret their passing, I don't regret that they were here or that they so briefly caught hold of my interest and my heart. They added a bit of wonder and excitement to my little slice of the world, and that is not so common.

Photo Friday

View the entire Photo Friday collection on Flickr.

lolkitters of the week

Click the photo to vote for Kitters!

View the collected weekly lolkitters on Flickr.