I Lose Things a Lot. Apparently.

Fun fact: Your house will gain an extra thousand square feet if you take a one-pound kitten home and lose track of it for .000000007 seconds.

That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Saturday after we picked up the still-not-named kitten up from the Animal Rescue League, there was much watching and oohing and aahing and all of that stuff. Alexis was and is and will probably always be smitten. Ali and Max were all sorts of WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND DO YOU REALIZE YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME? Cody and Penny were there to let us know that they were grateful that we had returned home with a tasty snack.

So, of course, once everyone went to bed, I sat on the couch and let the kitten sleep on me. She had earned that very special two hours of total and complete quiet. But, eventually I had to get up.

I managed to keep the kitten within view for very nearly every second while I walked over to the dryer to grab a pair of pajamas. Then there was that part where I had to pull pajamas over my head and BOOM.

ABRACADABRA, VANISHING CAT GO POOOOF!

I wasn't particularily worried about it. I figured she was under the couch or in the curtains or whatever. So, I settled back into my butt groove on the couch and did a little work. Half an hour later, my lap was still empty and I still hadn't seen so much as a kitten shadow.

Hrm.

Time to search.

It was midnight by then and everyone was sound asleep, so I set out to search like a ninja. I peered under couches, lifted up pillows, checked under tables, and even verified that the dollhouse was vacant.

Nothing.

I grabbed a flashlight and broadened my search area. I wound my way all over the entire house, absolutely certain that I was just moments away from having a kitten jump out of a dark corner to shout "BOO!"

But ... nothing.

I started to wonder if I had imagined the kitten thing. The delusion might have been a result of me hitting my head on the underside of a table, but I can't be sure. The good news was that I had cell phone pics that confirmed that the kitten was indeed real.

And really lost.

I searched and I searched and I searched, stubbing my toe on the stairs, tripping over a baby gate that currently acts as a dog containment device, and poking my flashlight in all of the dark corners of the house that I pretend not to know exist because OMG DO I SUCK AT DUSTING.

I need to unremember that part. I'll work on that.

Anyway, I checked every single room in the house, tried to bribe the dogs and other cats into helping me locate the new fuzzball, and nothing. NOTHING. She was absolutely nowhere.

I couldn't go 24 hours without losing Powder's replacement. You know, the other cat I've lost in my life. I decided to just go to bed and hope that she would appear in the morning. I turned off all of the lights and began stumbling my way upstairs.

She was sitting right smack in the middle of the stairs.

Her eyes lit up and her expression said, "Hey! I know you!" and she meowed to be picked up.

I'm thinking after I made her sit in the Barbie car, she's wishing she had run away while she had the chance.

Powder's Revenge

If ever you've wondered how trained our pets have me, know this -- I still check the front porch every night before I go to bed. Reasonable or not, I am absolutely convinced that one of these nights I'm going to peer out that little window and see a large white cat.

It has been five months.

Five months ago Powder snuck out in the dark of the night, or at least we think that's what happened. We don't actually know because he just vanished into thin air. After years of taunting us with seeming like he was near death, he deprived us of any sort of finality by just ... leaving. KA-POOF!

And by "finality" I should probably clarify that I mean "a DING DONG THE EVIL CAT IS DEAD PARTY."

What?

I'm not speaking ill of the dead because I'm telling you, that cat is out there somewhere laughing his ass off as he continues to torment me with his ability to live forever and ever and ever and ever. He's the only evil cat we've ever had, and he was the sort of evil that is genius and relentless and sneaky. He spent years opening every door he could find and laughing when I ran into it. He was always turning on faucets because the water we just poured into his water bowl wasn't fresh enough, but he always turned on the hot water so he could chuckle when I managed to burn myself on that stupid running water. Best of all, he was always demonstrating that he was pissed by ... well ... pissing.

Go ahead. Sniff my fireplace. You'll gain an appreciation for just how mad at us he was over the past few years.

I can't even tell you how many things that damn cat peed on over the years. But then he countered that terrible sin by being ... Powder. He was oddly charming when he knew you could see him. He only committed acts of evil when you couldn't prove it was him. He was so good at fooling people into thinking he wasn't totally evil that when he suddenly lost a whole bunch of weight a few years ago, I was seriously worried.

POOR POWDER. HE MUST BE SICK. NOOOOOO!

We prepared Alexis for what we thought was inevitable. There were tears and everything.

But then nothing happened. NOTHING. The little jerk suddenly found himself more mobile that he had been in years (because he had been a fat ass for years and fat asses can't jump on kitchen counters). He was leaping here and there and getting into more things than ever.

Then he would taunt me. He would curl up in an adorable little ball in my closet and hold his damn breath. I'm not kidding. That stupid cat played dead so often that it became a thing. "I'm not falling for it, jerk. You can breathe now," I would say.

And he would hold his breath, not flinching.

So I'd poke him.

I swear his eyes would fly open, he would glare at me, and evil laughter would radiate from his belly.

Over and over and over again, I poked that damn cat half hoping he was dead, and half relieved when he wasn't.

He thanked me by walking out, leaving me with nothing to poke and no way of knowing when he will return to torment me some more.

Game on, you little effer. We replaced you this weekend. BRING IT. I DARE YOU.

Meet ... umm ... she doesn't have a name yet. I've been too busy arming myself for the return of the disgruntled white cat to figure out what her name should be.

Blueberry Almond Salad

I am totally and completely obsessed with salads lately.

I know. It's weird.

Any minute now balance will return to the universe and I'll be back to eating all junk all of the time, but for now, go with it. Salad.

Blueberry Almond Salad, to be precise.

This turned out to be surprisingly not sweet. At all. It was just light and a tiny bit tangy, which is code for "just right." The sweet can be turned up or down as you wish because all of the sweet comes from the honey.

Blueberry Vinaigrette

1/4 cup almond oil
1/2 cup white wine vinegar
1/2 cup blueberries
2 tablespoons honey (or more or less, depending on how sweet you want it)
Salt to taste
Pepper to taste

1. Throw all the stuff in a food processor and blend it up. DONE!

FYI -- This makes about 1 1/2 cups of dressing, which is more than enough for the salad below. Store extra in the fridge.

Blueberry Almond Salad

1 bag prewashed romaine lettuce
1 cup blueberries
1/2 cup feta
1/4 cup sliced almonds
1/4 cup mandarin oranges

1. Toss it all in a bowl. Add the dressing when you're ready to serve it.

2. This salad stuff sure is a lot of work, right?