Sir Monty of Stinky Butt has many issues, his name notwithstanding.   As a wee little kitty, his anal glands were like none other our vet had ever experienced.

“How could something so cute smell so foul?” She wondered aloud several times.

Note:  If you have never experienced an anal gland expression, you’re blessed.  It’s not a fun treat, I promise you.  Unless you like gag-inducing odors that permeate your clothes and hang around in your nose for 24 hours or more.  I’ll never forget the first time I tried to explain the problem to our vet.

Me:  “His butt stinks.  Like a LOT.”

Doc: “Is it a Poo smell, or an Anus smell?”

Me: “….uh…wha??”

Doc: “Does it smell like Poo, or Ass?

Me: “…uh…how’s about I just bring him in for you to tell ME?”

Turns out, the smell was an Anus smell.  Go figure.  I am ashamed to say I now know the difference in kitty butt smells.

This particular problem of Sir Monty’s did not endear a very reluctant Captain of mine very much.  In fact, My Captain was adamant that Sir Monty was not welcome in our home…which of course ensured that Sir Monty adopted My Captain with a favoritism far greater than any of the rest of us…even Critter..who he really DOES have a true affinity for.

Every time My Captain comes home and flops into his favorite recliner,

Sir Monty follows up and takes his spot on My Captain’s belly or chest,

assumes the position on his back,

and immediately is gratified with the perfect belly rub.

My Captain doesn’t even realize he’s doing it half the time.  Sir Monty trained him THAT well.

Tonight I’m alone.  The kids are with their dad for the evening, and My Captain is at the firehouse working overtime.   Sir Monty had to make do with cuddling just little ol’ me.

It took some effort, but he managed to get comfortable….

I was surprised he would even speak to me after this afternoon’s, er, incident.

You see, I’ve recently planted 1,000 new tulip bulbs for next spring.

When I do this, I sprinkle Cayenne pepper in each bulb’s hole, as well as on top of the dirt after it’s planted.  This deters critters from eating the bulbs over the winter.

Sir Monty got out this afternoon, and decided to “do his business” in one of my freshly planted and cayenned tulip beds.

Have you ever seen a cat get Cayenne on his butthole?

It’s funny as heck, I tell you.  And then the second show is when the cat tries to lick his butthole clean, which then makes his mouth irritated, so he licks that and….well….

Look, I don’t get out much and this kind of thing makes me laugh so hard I snort.  I DO love animals, I swear!  And how was I supposed to know he would try to poop there?

I bet he’ll think twice before he poops in my tulips again!  Ah, good times!  Good times!

“So, Mama, what do you do when you’re home alone?”  “Oh, not much, just watch my cat try to lick pepper off his stinky anal gland.”

Don’t judge.

It started out like any other Christmas season.  No sooner had the Thanksgiving turkey been digested, that we initiated the launch sequence for Christmas.

The Moose adorned his Santa hat, paying homage to our favorite elf in the whole wide world.

The annual Christmas tree was hunted and caught.  The web of Christmas lights,

ever so meticulously organized, was thrown on the tree, and any non-broken ornaments we could dig up were lovingly placed as well.

Then it came time for the manly men of the family to assemble The Polar Express down around the base of the tree.

This is always a wonderful bonding experience, with only a modicum of yelling and whining in between the chin scratching and grunting.

But in addition to the normal train assembly strife, was added one…

small…

furry…

little…

problem.

Of course, Walter Sir Caesar McSneezer is enthralled by the tree, the lights, and the ornaments.  Add the RAWTHER expensive miniature train – in motion – and, well, you’re just taunting the beast.

But if you think Critter is at all oblivious to this, you’re sadly mistaken.  If anything, he sees it as a challenge.  So, essentially, you’ve got one kitten having his first Christmas, and all that that implies, and one 12-year-old who likes nothing more than to experiment with cause-and-effect.

This ought to be interesting.

I can’t watch.

I’m not going to lie to you.  As my kids are getting older, and perilously close to being ‘too cool’ to acknowledge the fun in any of their previous childhood enjoyments, I’ve begun neurotically  ramping up my sentimental-childhood-memory-making game.

For instance, this Halloween, instead of just putting out the ol’ Halloween colored placemats,

and putting mini pumpkins on the kitchen table,

and lighting Jack, our ceramic Jack-0-lantern up outside with a fresh candle every night to see during dinner,

I augmented my decorations and festive atmosphere by clearing out the seasonal aisles at The Dollar Store and Walmart.  Because nothing is too good for my family!

This included the blinking light canvas ‘art’ of a pumpkin truck…(OH SO CLASSY!)…

…and signs showing the proper priorities for the season….

…complete with campy, glittery, Styrofoam candy corn wreath.  (Don’t be jealous haters!)

It also included the motion-sensing, jumping hairy tarantula….

….complete with blinking red eyes that scares the bejeebies out of me every time it jumps, even though I am the one who hung it in the first place….

and silly signs reading ‘Boo’….

…and replacing the ‘Outhouse’ sign on the bathroom door with ‘Bat Motel’….

…and hanging suggestive exclamations in the bathroom…

…to match my window ghosts, and my newly-sewn-homemade-Halloween-themed shower curtain and valences….

…complete with orange and white polka-dotted trim.  Martha Stewart has got NOTHIN’ on this overly-campy Mama!

I’m ramping up my game, so when my kids have kids of their own, and they come to visit us in our old age, I can pull these things out, and they’ll be transported to their own childhood holiday sentiments and memories.  It’s going to be X-treme Sentimentality, with tears, and sniffles, and “Oh remember THIS!?!”

It’s going to be so awesome!

(And honestly, who DOESN’T fall for the orange and white polka dot trim?  No one, that’s who.)

Oh, he’s good.  He’s really good, My Captain is.

He found the box of chocolate-pecan-peanutbutter bars I’d hidden for his trip to Georgia, and he put them out at the place the USAR team gathered before they left for the airport.

Sure, some got eaten, but the remainder of the box of goodies got left at the USAR warehouse, and did NOT go on the plane with the rest of the team to the training.  I was summarily outfoxed.

What a butthead.

Of course, if their plane crashes, and they are starving somewhere deep in the Appalachian Mountains, he’ll have no one to blame but himself.  I’ll certainly feel smug as I hear the harrowing details of how he had to eat an arm or leg off of one of the rookies.

You realize, of course, that this means war.

In other news, the power went out just as My Captain was leaving for his trip at 3am this morning.  Here’s a bastardization of  how the conversation went down:

M.C.: I’ll go start up the generator real quick before I leave.

Me:  No, don’t bother, Love.  I’m sure the power company will take care of it.  The USAR training can’t wait for you.   Just go!

M.C.: You and the kids won’t have lights as they get ready for school.

Me:  Critter looks like he dressed in the dark every day as it is, and Varmint gets her stuff together every night before.  We’ll be fine.   Just go!

M.C.: You’ll have no power to work the well-pump.  You’ll have no water.

Me: We’ll drink Gatorade.  Go!

M.C.: You won’t be able to flush a toilet.

Me: Critter loves to pee in the woods.  Don’t worry about us!  Just go!  Love you!

And off My Captain went.

Later this morning, as we got our acts together in the dark, I realized I couldn’t make coffee.

I. Couldn’t. Make. Coffee.

Daggumit!  I should have agreed to let him start up the generator.

Once again, he was right.  He is always stinkin’ right. It’s enough to drive a woman nuts…or, in my case, MORE nuts.

Later on, he called to check on us as they were boarding the plane.   Know what I said?

“Why didn’t you start up the generator before you left?! You’re so selfish!”

Did I mention that this means war?

Otherwise entitled:  “I Understand, But….”

FEMA’s Maryland Task Force One, Urban Search and Rescue team is training this week in Georgia.  My Captain helped get the convoy of supply trucks on the road at the crack of dawn today, and tomorrow, he and the rest of the 80-personnel team follow at an even earlier crack of dawn.  He’s leaving the house at 3:00am!

They’ll go by air.  Of course, that means packing efficiently, tightly, and lightly. He and his team are professionals, highly trained in their tools and trade.  They don’t waste time with extra fluff or baggage.

“I understand, but, you’ll need to have some munchies along for the travel,” I assured.

He assured me they would be fine.  The rescue team did not need ‘munchies’.

“I understand, but, you know how unexpected delays can happen and you can barely make your flight, so your men and women won’t have had a chance to hit the airport food court.  And sometimes flights don’t serve food,” I argued.

He argued that they would be fine.  The rescue team would manage a few hours without food if need be.

“I understand, but, you know how cranky you get when you’re hungry,” I persisted.

He persisted that his team is used to him being cranky.  It comes with the territory of herding cats.

“I understand, but, what if the plane crashes in the Appalachian mountains somewhere and you have no food, or water, and end up having to eat your dead.  Wouldn’t it be best to be prepared with a goody bag of cookies or something?” I worried.

He raised an eyebrow at me and stated that under no circumstances would his manhood be called into question because he was carrying a goody bag.  Apparently Task Force Leaders are not allowed to carry doily-wrapped cookie tins.  He kissed me goodnight, checked his alarm one more time, and closed the subject as he rolled over.

My friends, do I seem like the kind of woman who quits easily?  Can you even imagine me daunted?  Nay, Nay!!

I crept downstairs, got out my mixer and spatulas, and made very manly sounding, high-protein, chocolate-peanutbutter-pecan energy pellets,

…cut them into very no-nonsense cubes…

…encased them in a manly-man metallic tin resembling an ammo box…

and smiled.

Oh I’ll find a way to get them on the plane.  You just wait.

Wish me luck!!