Everyone likes a cute kitten, right? Well, here's one for you:
This is No Name Kitten. She is roughly 4-5 weeks old, and was born on a farm, and then apparently fell on her head. She is, as Mrs. TK artfully put it, "Dain Bramaged." So much so that when I first met her, she couldn't see, couldn't walk, couldn't do much of anything except lie there and cry and twitch. So, of course, she is temporarily staying with us while she rehabilitates. It's actually been pretty cool, watching her re-learn everything from eating to seeing to walking. After a couple of days, she could move around, but her wiring was clearly faulty. She would try to walk, and her back legs would kick up over her head and she'd basically accidentally somersault. It was simultaneously sad and hilarious.
Fortunately, the dogs seem to like her. Here she is hiding:
She's much better now, she can walk/stumble without somersaulting, and while she still runs into things pretty regularly, she doesn't fall down nearly as much. She is No Name Kitten because I believe that as soon as you name an animal, you are tempted to keep it, and I can't take on another member to the pack. So No Name Kitten will, after a few more days, have to find someone else to take care of her. It shouldn't be hard, since a) she won't be retarded for much longer and b) she's fucking adorable.
But until then:
She should be fine. Also, she should be plenty clean since Audrey the Beagle enjoys constantly licking her.
Couple more notes on the weekend:
We went shopping on Saturday and when we got back on the highway, got caught up in a horrendous traffic snare. Why? Because the highway was jammed up with people going to... a Kenny Chesney concert. Sigh. There are few things more upsetting that watching a bunch of New Englanders suddenly acting "country" because they're going to see some douchebag country singer. People in cowboy hats, plaid shirts with the sleeves ripped off - I wanted to kill everyone on the road. There was even a car with "Kenny Chesney #1 Fan!!" written in white on their rear window. Incidentally, that car was full of guys. Die, all of you. Please. Needless to say, Chesney does NOT belong here. Instead, I'd rather he was here.
But, as a neat little segue, last week I wrote a post on The Music is the Message about "screamy music." Over the weekend, I was looking up a bunch of the bands that people recommended in the comments section, including a band called Gallows, recommended by an anonymous reader. So I found and downloaded an album... and was sort of baffled. Well, come to find out there are two bands by that name. One, this band a British hardcore punk band that when I finally tracked them down, is actually fucking awesome (thanks, Anon!).
The other, the band I dl'd by accident, is this band, whose music was this sort of lazy, laid back hillbilly porch music that, to be honest, I really liked. I might even put them on the list. Clearly, based on the album art, they are totally dissimilar.
So, by happy accident, I discovered two new (and completely different) bands.
And that was my weekend. Kittens and music. Not bad.
Listening to: Grizzly Bear - Marla