Erin Lohden

New home

Erin Lohden — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 22:52:58 GMT

This blog location is officially closed. If I'm on your blogroll please update the address. Click on the following ad or visit www.plungergirl.com to go to the new site.

Weiners, butts, and some other stuff

Erin Lohden — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 05:24:02 GMT

Because I'm highly superstitious and mildly obsessive-compulsive I don't want to discuss the activities of last night's Operation Sunkist events. We have a bit of hope though. Now please knock on wood.

I never realized how much Pumpkin looks like Sunkist. He is his brother, but it somehow escaped me until now. I really don't want my orange boys split up again. It seems like they keep disappearing from my life one-by-one. I'm supposed to be positive, I know, but it's not an easy thing to keep up when the traps are consistently empty or contain an inhabitant that isn't him.

The weather is getting warmer and I didn't lose circulation when I stepped outdoors so THANK JESUS H. CHRIST! But when J drove me to The Shed on the four-wheeler I couldn't feel my butt as I attempted to liberate myself from the contraption. Who needs butt sensation anyway? Well, I can think of one sector of the community that probably needs butt sensation.

Speaking of sensation, our night vision camera is on our kitchen table and, because I don't know how to turn it off, it probably contains nineteen photos of Peter's penis because he keeps walking over it. Peter is a cat--not some strange man wandering around my house taking photos of his wienerschnitzel.

It's been 27 days.

Dun dun dun dun dun Inspector Gadget

Erin Lohden — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 22:22:23 GMT

We're trapping in a different location and it's taking up all of my time and hope and willpower. The Shed doors have been closed since Thursday and it's a real possibility that some creature--hopefully not a mutant unicorn or a deranged Wyomingite--is locked inside. I just don't have room in my house to take in a special-needs occupant.

We're trapping in this House of Treasures because it has recently started smelling like Eau de Parfum of cat pee. And the cat pee smell fluctuates. I've also examined bits of fecal matter deposited around The Shed and I'm of the belief that it came from a cat's bowels. I'm pretty much like the female Inspector Gadget. But things don't self-destruct around me. Not yet anyway.

In order to trap inside The Shed I had to put up with a lengthy discussion with the decidedly-retarded real estate agent in charge of the house. It was as if I was speaking Alien Tongue. I had to repeat myself approximately 182 times and each time her response was pretty much a series of grunts and gurgles with a "Huh?" thrown in here and there. When she managed to actually put a sentence together she told me "There's not a cat in there" and I'm like "WTF do you, who have the intelligence of a stone, know about this?" Actually I didn't say that, but I finally convinced her that she was most likely the biggest moron on the face of the Earth and she agreed. So we obtained permission to walk through the enchanting doors of The Shed, which clearly must contain some sort of precious treasure hidden in its depths based on her insistence that I not place a single toe inside the magical building.

Yes Lady, I really want that 80's sofa with the puffy arms. I want it so badly I drool every time I step foot inside The Shed. Please let me have it. I know it will look delightful and charming in my home that is decorated with posters of The New Kids on the Block.

It's been 26 days.

At it again

Erin Lohden — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 21:18:23 GMT

It warmed up a bit yesterday--this means wearing two pairs of pants and three shirts that flattened my boobs like a sports bra. I was looking quite attractive.

Fortunately the wind didn't threaten to blow my private regions off into the sunset. I could actually hear last night when I was out looking for him. Of course, that didn't help much because every noise was him. My breathing was so erratic that I was actually hearing myself. And my eyes kept seeing flashes of light. Surely aliens didn't pack up their things, follow Jenne home from seeing the Marfa lights, and travel through the phone lines to Wyoming. Or maybe they did. It would likely be a familiar place for them to immigrate--bizarre, barren, unfriendly, uninhabitable. I'm pretty sure that's what happened.

I had another (well, two) encounter with the imaginary cops last night. While standing near the shed, debating whether to risk going in and getting blown away by the deranged neighbors, a car came into view and I immediately and psychicly (yes that's a word) determined it was a cop. So I ran through the sagebrush yet again. I must be getting quite good at running through knee-high bushes and uneven terrain in the dark because I actually made it back to the house without breaking off my fibula.

I also had a run-in with an annoyed antelope while I was trying to flatten myself against the shack behind our house--the second cop sighting. The antelope was making all sorts of grunting noises and I couldn't turn on the flashlight to scare him away, or see if he was sitting right beside me, because, obviously, I was hiding. He didn't mow me down but I had thoughts of being trampled by an antelope and how that would work out for me.

Last night was not a good night in terms of being hopeful. I didn't find Sunkist--apparently he wasn't interested in using the loo. We didn't trap. But there was some sign of a tasting at the Kitty Buffet. It's most likely just those pesky neighborhood cats mooching. They probably all sit around, napkins in their laps, and discuss politics in British accents while they dine on the select morsels.

I did look at some pictures of Sunkist and attempted to speak to him telepathically. Unfortunately when I try to clear my mind I start chanting "nothing, nothing, nothing" to myself and then I realize I have an itch that I should scratch and then I start wondering how I'll ever get the laundry finished. Apparently I'm just not cut out to have a clear and calm mind. I'll keep trying to do the telepathic thing though because I'm just cool like that.

I'm now considering buying a cartload of whole fish at the lame grocery store, if they even carry fish, to hang from every surface around our house. The soon-to-be warm weather will make it stink to high heaven and maybe that'll make him come running home. I know it's a rather disturbing idea, but I have a lot of those lately. This ordeal makes people, or maybe just me, do very bizarre things.

God. I hope he is recovered soon. I may start sitting on the floor all day drooling, making up songs, and picking my toes before too long.

It's been 24 days.

Where I rant about gasoline and airplanes

Erin Lohden — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 22:18:24 GMT

I'm straying from my single-track focus. WTF is the deal with gas prices? This is just wrong. I'm not going to buy some electric car because there's no way I could fit my entire family and my skincare products inside. Plus, I don't want to drive around in a rollerskate. My car is quite fuel efficient. Today it cost me $59.67 to fill it up. I can't take these gas prices anymore. We should revolt. A Gasoline Revolution where we all hang out at gas stations in long underwear and screech like monkeys until they lower the prices. I believe that would do the trick.

We live in an area where the oil industry has literally made this county. If it weren't for the oil and gas industry this place would still be a giant tumbleweed inhabited by people without teeth and skin like beef jerky. I don't want the prices to drop below $2 a gallon, but pretty soon it's going to be difficult for the companies here to actually service the industry. Nobody will be able to afford to drive to work, much less perform their duties. We'll all go on welfare. The oil and gas industry will be forced into non-existence. Then what? Probably we'll all move to Iraq because the living conditions are better.

The other day I was told that we can expect gas prices to get up to $8 a gallon here sometime this summer. At that point I'll be joining a commune in Peru where I can wear muu-muu dresses and no undergarments.

We didn't catch anybody last night, but that was expected because we didn't trap. The Kitty Buffet had no visitors. Not even an overweight redneck wearing overalls, his toothless wife, and their 18 children.

Our night vision camera didn't arrive today because UPS dared to have an airplane mechanical issue. Damn them. How dare they not deliver my package because an airplane might be dangerous? They should've flown anyway and left it to chance.

I love the world today.

I would feel better if, tonight, Sunkist knocks on the door and asks to use the loo.

It's been 23 days.

Buttcicle

Erin Lohden — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 23:15:37 GMT

I can feel the lack of hope by those around me, both virtually and physically. It's a bitter pill to swallow.

However, the support I am getting is something I wrap up in a box and store until I need it. It's encouraging to have others sending good thoughts our way. Thank you.

I'm handling this situation much better than I would typically expect from myself. I'm not continuously falling apart. I'm not destroying things--besides the cleanliness of my home. And I'm not bumbling nude through the sagebrush. It's probably in part from medication and part from the absolute need to recover him.

I don't have much to report. Last night was bitterly cold so we set up a Kitty Buffet with Jack Mackerel and tuna. J touched the Jack Mackerel with bare hands and has been making comments relating to vulvas all day. I'm married to a pervert and I'm proud of it--he'll probably vomit up his prostate when he realizes his wife posts bits of information he'd probably prefer to keep between us.

At 3 AM I went outside for an hour and called him. I nearly turned into an icicle in the process, especially when I sat on the ground for 20 minutes. My butt did not appreciate that move. I thought I heard him several times but I'm just wanting to hear him so badly that I'm pretty sure I'm making it up. I did, however, hear that sound that I assumed was a deranged bird. I'm not so sure anymore. The sound is vaguely reminiscent of a cat fight, but not really. I wondered if it was a creature, like a rabbit or mouse, being hunted. Maybe it was Sunkist trying to make his way towards me and being chased by another cat. I have no idea, but it made me want to run the 5 acres to get to the noise and help whoever may have been in a bad situation. But that's an absurd idea. Thankfully I realized it.

This morning a good portion of the Jack Mackerel was gone. The tuna wasn't touched. Apparently cats like food that smells like the perfume Vulva. I'm assuming this information, of course. I don't happen to own Vulva.

Our night vision camera will arrive tomorrow and hopefully we'll get footage of him coming to eat. I hope he is. Also, my mom may fly in this weekend and help call him. He'd been living with my parents for a year and he comes to her so hopefully that happens. If it does it's a sure sign that when he looks at me he says "Not the Mama!"

It's been 22 days.

I never wanted tuna to be my life's main ingredient

Erin Lohden — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 23:00:54 GMT

I haven't updated, much to y'alls' glee I'm sure, because yesterday was The Day From Hell. Seriously, Satan must have jumped in my purse when I was in Pinedale a few days ago. I'll have to fumigate soon.

After the sleepless night trying to capture Orange Kitty #3 across the subdivision I came home for the last time and got ready to take a trip to the post office. Yes, visits to the post office are Earth-shattering events here. As I was gathering my shoes I realized Pip had an enormous hard lump underneath his eye. Naturally I overreacted and saw the world crashing in around me--but I give myself huge leeway in this situation due to the absurd level of stress of these past 3 weeks. So I threw a huge tantrum, cried tears I didn't think I had left, carried Pip around like a baby, and proceeded to make an embarrassingly overwrought call to the vet.

She got him in, sedated him to the point where he was a limp noodle, and determined he needed to have a molar removed. An anesthetic-required procedure--thoughts of anesthesia make my heart stop beating. The appointment was set for today, as well as getting Miller in for a dental so they'd be done at the same time. I spent the last 3 hours of the day attempting to sleep around phone calls about Orange Kitty #3 (the people were being incredibly helpful) and the persistent attempts of my intestines to lurch out of my throat.

This morning I dropped the boys off at the vet, talked myself out of driving off the bridge, and checked the trap, which did contain Orange Kitty #3. I think this may actually be Orange Kitty #4, but who the hell knows anymore? Orange Kitty #3 is not Sunkist. In fact, he belongs to the man across the street and I think he was a bit puzzled when he saw me freeing his cat. He came over and promised to let me know if he saw another orange kitty around.

Fortunately the boys are okay, but quite sore and grumpy, and they are 1.5 teeth short for a grand total of $840. J is just grumpy all around and I'd prefer if he'd go on a vacation--alone. The weather has turned quite bad (this means snow--in June--Wyoming--seriously?) and trapping is out of the question, so we've set up a disturbingly fishy kitty buffet and ordered a ridiculous night vision camera to see if Sunkist is coming around. Finding a displaced cat is expensive financially and emotionally.

I had a dream that I caught him by our trailer. I snatched his ass up and held on for dear life. Sheer relief. Then I woke up in hell again. J and I are beginning to wonder what we did to deserve this--what kind of horrible thing must we have done to cause such pain for our pets?

So my life is turning into cans of fish and a need for extra-strength Tums. At this point in the night I'm too exhausted, too cried-out to feel much. But this kind of loss, even if temporary, can be felt through any amount of exhaustion or medication.

It's been 21 days.

_______________________

Unrelated, do you think it's weird that my spellchecker tries to replace the word "okay" with "orgy"? I do. Also, the new blog is getting bloody close to completion. I'll let you know when it does by posting here. In the meantime, here's some ads for your viewing pleasure.

I may soon need professional help

Erin Lohden — Mon, 09 Jun 2008 06:09:39 GMT

I wasn't able to trap Orange Kitty #3. However, I'm going to leave the trap out during the day because we saw him lounging about (or rather staring at me like I was a psychopath) in the middle of the day so maybe he'll be out and about today and get in the trap and we can find out if he's Sunkist. I didn't last very long at Operation Stake-Out. It was frigid in my car and my boobies almost fell off. I was wrapping every piece of cloth I could find around my head and finally had to go back home to warm up. I returned every 3 hours. On one such return I couldn't find the trap so I spent almost half an hour wandering around their property searching for it. I think that time spent in the cold probably froze a few brain cells, causing bizarre behavior later in the night.

I may actually be losing sanity faster than I can swallow pills to keep it. On one trip behind our house to check the other trap I heard a strange screeching noise (turned out to be a deranged bird) and suddenly I was running through the sagebrush towards the sound. Somewhere along the way I realized that the sound was echoing off the mountains, I had no idea where it was actually coming from, and WTF was I doing anyway?

Then, I was standing near our propane tank calling his name and something made a very loud noise. I have no idea what it was. I searched all over with the flashlight but found nothing. Awhile later, or maybe during another check--I'm losing all sense of time--I really thought I heard him. Very close to me. But the sound was near the house and so was I. If he'd been there I'd have caught sight of him with the flashlight.

As if that isn't enough right? After I checked the trap at the other house for the last time and the sun was just beginning to rise I happened upon a small orange-ish animal. I slammed on the brakes, tore across a ditch, and ran full speed after this animal. Not the brightest idea. But the creature stopped running. It was the right size. It was alert and interested in me. And it was also a fox. A poor baby fox who couldn't comprehend the insane lady calling him Sunkist, waving a flashlight and charging towards him. Even after I realized he was a fox I continued to call him and stare at him. Maybe he was a shape-shifter. Who the hell knows?

It was a long night and it promises to be a long day and then again a long night. Perhaps I will never again sleep.

It's been 20 days.

Crossing our Fingers

Erin Lohden — Sun, 08 Jun 2008 20:30:36 GMT

Pumpkin has fitted himself amongst the insane amount of crap on our countertops and is desperately trying to find himself another treat. He's become so obsessed with the treats he spends hours staring at the bottle, knocking it over, nibbling at it. I think he may be emotionally eating.

Today we got another (the third) phone call about an orange cat on a certain road. Call #1 said she had an orange cat, but it was female, and she let it go. Call #2 said she saw an orange cat on her patio growling at her cat. Call #3 today said there was an orange cat hanging around their house.

We've been silently worried, but outwardly dismissive, about these calls. After all, this road is quite far away. I'm confused about the distance, not wanting to move our traps here should tonight be the night Sunkist comes home, but at the same time not wanting to lose a chance that could very well be him. Each person has stressed that they've never seen an orange cat around there. All the more distressing.

So today, as we were entering the subdivision, we drove by the house of Call #3. Now, sagebrush is a distressing plant. It is all crazy, goes in all different directions, and it is generally just tall enough to hide a cat. And because there is only 1 blade of grass per acre here in Wyoming sagebrush covers as far as the eye can see. Imagine my extreme frustration through these 19 days of straining to see an orange cat in this tangle of weeds.

As we were driving along, and I was becoming increasingly distressed about how and why Sunkist would be this far, J slammed on the brakes and pointed out a cat. A cat about a zillion yards away. An orange cat. J. Who pays attention to very little, notices almost nothing. It was shocking. We had the binoculars with us (yes, we're sickos) and both of us took turns using them and then alternatively screaming at each other about how to correctly adjust them.

J finally told me to get out there. I was hesitant to go on someone's property. These people are nutcases. But I timidly approached the cat, had only gone about 10 feet in fact, and Orange Kitty #3 (I think?) started scooting away. I was calling Sunkist's name and J was swearing the cat would poke his head up and look at me when I did this. I was too busy keeping one eyeball on the orange flashes and another on the house ahead--looking for the shotgun out the window.

The cat wasn't interested in letting me near him/her. This fact is interesting to me--remember Call #1 actually had the cat in captivity. Maybe there are 2 orange cats down there? (I say down there because we live on the back side of a ridge near the mountains--this cat, if Sunkist, would've had to travel up the ridge, over the ridge, down the ridge, and through quite a bit of flat land to get to this particular road.)

I decided it would be a bad idea to channel my inner sprint runner and hurdle through the sagebrush at breakneck speed so we drove up to the house of Call #3. On the way J swore up and down that it was Sunkist. I disagreed, his face seemed different. The caller agreed that I could set up a stake-out on her property and emphasized that she has never seen an orange cat around. She was actually quite nice, offered the use of another trap that she happened to have, had the most attractive children I've ever seen, and 3 Saint Bernards that were huge.

So tonight I will don camouflage, slick my hair back and put that black crap all over my face. I'll take my traps, my stinky tuna, wet cat food, a pillowcase, a flashlight..and whatever else I think might be useful, like a romance novel. If only I had purchased the night vision goggles I was looking at a week ago--yes, I seriously considered the purchase.

J said if I get the orange cat in a trap I'm to bring him/her home immediately regardless of if I think it's not Sunkist. He doesn't trust me to recognize someone who might as well be my right arm. What a riot. Maybe he's right.

I Suck

Erin Lohden — Sun, 08 Jun 2008 05:40:41 GMT

With extremely minimal headway on the cleaning (one load of laundry and an online shopping spree that resulted in 12 collars and 12 tags for each animal) and no captures, I'm giving in for the day.

Tomorrow's (or rather later today) trap setting is going to be different. Hopefully it'll get warmer because I doubt the kind of cold that leaves frost on cars is conducive to catching kitties. I read something somewhere (who knows where I get this crap while wandering the internet all night) that said to mix a can of tuna with a bunch of water and pour it all around, ultimately leading to the trap.

Hey, I'm desperate. I'll walk up and down the road pouring out gallons of stanky water if I have to.

It seems like an eternity since I last saw him. I ordered him a collar and tag. I hope he returns soon to don the black velvet and rhinestone confection. When you send good thoughts his way please leave out the whole collar thing--it might offend his sensibilities.

It's been 19 days.