How come one day I can look at myself and think how great I look and be proud of myself for how far I’ve come. I’ve lost 70 lbs in the last two years. The next day all I can see is how fat I still am and how much further (25-30 lbs) I have to go? These last two weeks have been so up and down for me emotionally with regard to this issue. Why can’t I just be happy for my progress and not all anxious that I won’t be able to keep it off or that I won’t lose the rest? Bleah!
Apparently this is the thread for sucky cat posts.
Our cat (who has the soul of a cranky 50-year-old children’s librarian) spent 13 years in this house without ever showing the slightest inclination of wanting to go outside. She’d sit in the window and look out, and if someone had the back door open, she’d sit several feet inside the doorway and look interestedly at that huge room out there with the super-tall blue ceiling, but as for going out? No thank you, there are too many comfortable surfaces in here where I can get in the way of people folding laundry or making beds.
Except yesterday afternoon, Mrs. Chef realized we hadn’t seen her all that day and we couldn’t remember seeing her the day before, either – and the day before THAT, I’d had the back door open for a while when I was ferrying Xmas decorations from the garage to the house.
Not that “she got out” was our first thought, or even the second one – at first we thought she’d just sequestered herself somewhere, as she sometimes does, and the second thought was that she might have (gulp) found a spot to go hide and die. An exhaustive search of the house, however, leaves less than a 1 percent chance that she’s in here, which means that a) she got out, b) it’s my fault, and c) she’s out there either cold and alone, or just plain cold, if you know what I mean and I think you do. 
We went out and spent ages combing the neighborhood and calling her, to no avail. I had to tell Lil’ Miss Sous-Chef last night, thereby adding “makes children cry” on the line below “lets helpless indoor cats out to fend for themselves” on my resume. We still haven’t told Chef Jr. yet – I get to do that tonight when he comes home from college for a visit. (At least that can’t POSSIBLY be worse than telling his sister was.)
Did I mention that we have both coyotes and a bobcat living in our area? How about that the cat is declawed – did I mention that? (for the record, she was declawed when we got her - at least I don’t have THAT on my conscience.)
Mrs. Chef keeps telling me not to blame myself, but who the hell else am I going to blame?
The big one has 7 trunks from 2 bases and is 20 years old. Looks a little ratty right now because the durned thing drops like 40% of it’s leaves in the first month of going from full sun south facing deck to inside. No idea why 
The one on the right is the daughter plant, only about 6 years old, single trunk.
And I uploaded the pic and realized it’s past time I take that AC cover on the far left and put it over the blasted AC unit for the winter.
I have pneumonia. Dammit, I got vaccinated against that shit!
ChefTroy, don’t give up hope. I once had a very similar experience and after over a week, Rocky returned hungry but unharmed. He actually came back one day after I had printed a bunch of flyers and gone all over town, so maybe he was just waiting to see how much effort I would exert, but anyhow he did come home. We’ll all hold the good thoughts…
Chef Troy, did your cat ever get canned food? You could try taking a can of nice stinky food out, opening it out there and then tap a spoon on it, like ringing the dinner bell. Leve a plate of it out near your porch or garage, it might tempt her back if she’s in the area and just scared into immobility.
FWIW, I teach all my cats the cat food can dinner bell. Every so often (well, now it’s every evening for the Oled Farte Kats) I give out canned stuff, and I always precede it by tapping on the can or some other mettalic object and I call at the same time. It has saved me many panicky hours when somecat inevitably slips out - even if it takes me a bit to actually get my hands on the little rotters I can sort of check in with them, make sure they’re fed and watered and doing ok. Eventually I get them, usually when e novelty of being out has worn off.
My mom sent me a bunch of texts today about how sad she is that I don’t call her often enough. You know what, mom? Fuck off. You let me sleep on the streets rather than let me crash on the couch for a few nights. And because you’re keeping the money from the car insurance company, I can’t get a car. You didn’t invite me to have Thanksgiving dinner with you or anything. Excuse me if I don’t ring you up just to chat. I’m fucking busy applying for every menial job from here to Mongolia and trying to piece my life together pretty much all by myself.
Also… how shitty a person must I be that even McDonald’s won’t give me a job? This is so frustrating. I have a good work history. Good references. I’m well-groomed, punctual, and polite. Isn’t there anyone out there who wants to pay me too little to work too hard? Please?
Never give up. Never surrender, Dorothy.
(eta: meant that in a “We’re on your side, Dorothy” way… and a “Wasn’t Galaxy Quest a classic?” kind of way)
Well, to be fair, Galaxy Quest was a classic.
no, no gooshyfood ever – always dry Iams cat food. That’s a good idea, though – I’ll have to keep it in mind for the next cat. (I really don’t have any hope here, folks.)
Just so you know…I used to have a cat that came to my feeders on a regular basis. He was fixed, but there was something funny about his mouth. Said cat would run away when I put food out, and i didn’t worry about him becaues he was fixed.
About 4 months later, during the summer storms, he came cryiing to me and I got a good at him. Front declawed and half of his mouth shot off. His name is Lucky.
I’m telling you this so you dont’ lose hope. Somehow Lucky managed to survive the coyotes, the javalina and the fucking idiot who shot him with a .22 and left him to suffer.
Your cat might come back. Or get adopted by someone like me.
That is just not right. Every time I get a flu shot, I get sick. Im trying to learn how to cook…well…no I am not, the house keeper keeps getting in the way and I don’t like to cook anyhow. So no offers of chicken soup…I can share ebooks, though.
I hates your mom. Just so you know.
I hate Dorothy’s mom too.
Bitch number 1: unsolicited pregnancy advice from my childless brother-in-law.
Bitch number 2: unsolicited childcare advice from my childless sister-in-law, with the helpful comment that putting an infant into some form of daycare is akin to poking said infant with hot needles. Truly unhelpful.
Bitch number 3: Gossipy coworkers. Seriously, the information you apparently can’t stop talking about relates to a part of the company that has nothing to do with you–you don’t work with them and never will so whatever personnel changes might be happening DON’T FUCKING CONCERN YOU. Moreover, asking someone you aren’t close to point blank if they have taken over a new position, when nothing of the sort has been announced, tells me that you, apparently, were raised by wolves. Just STFU.
I hate Dorothy’s mom three.
And good grief, so embarrassed re-reading my post to Chef. I do actually know how to spell, and use spell check! :smack:
There’s this guy on YouTube who writes really nice piano music - but he’ll sometimes play a piece of his more slowly than his original recording - and call it a different piece! Sounds like an awfully silly thing to do.
Wandering around outside shaking the bag of food might have the same effect as the dinner bell. My guy comes running when I flap a packet of moist food around. Don’t lose hope. Also, don’t know if she’s verbal, but going outside when it’s quiet and listening for pathetic yowls may work if she is.
You are not a shitty person.
The economy fucking sucks, jobs are scarce and what jobs that are available fucking suck.
That does not make you a shitty person.
Maybe you’re over-qualified for McDonald’s? I’m sorry to hear that you’re struggling so much 
hugs
Chef Troy, I really hope you find your poor kitty.
Chef Troy, I hope you find your kitty, too. Our cats are allowed to free roam in our cat-proofed back yard, but my fool cat somehow manages to slip into the garage without me realizing it on a semi-regular basis. Come nightfall and we’re looking to make sure both cats are in the house before locking up the door, and where the heck is Feather? Oh yeah, I was in the garage earlier - yup, there she is.
Now, onto today’s rant - we were at a work Christmas party last night, and the people running the show had a two-step process for completely and utterly taking all the fun and momentum out of the dancing part of the evening - first, play a game of charades on the dance floor for half an hour plus, then next, do the door prize giveaways for another half hour after that. Not to look a gift party in the mouth or anything, but damn - everyone was drinking and having fun dancing - they certainly put a stop to that!
I failed in my third attempt to remove the 24" stump from my front yard. I’m up to about 12 hours of my own time and about 10 hours of various neighbors’ time. It has failed to yield to a sawzall, 3 chainsaws of escalating size, at least 10 different shovels of different shapes and styles, two different kinds of digging bars, 3 picks, a hatchet, an axe, a chain and a pickup truck.
I should probably accept defeat, but I really want to teach this inanimate object a lesson.