About Those Coupons...

Yes.  I'm still couponing.  I did pretty well this week, and since someone asked me if I was still at it, I thought I'd give you a little glimpse of what I buy!

Color you excited!

Two things you should disregard about this photo:
1.  It is out of focus.  I ain't no professional y'all, and I was shooting this double quick before my ice cream melted!
2.  I need to really clean off my kitchen cabinets in the background before taking pictures of my bargains.  It lends the strange idea that I may not be all that is neat and organized....Which is probably true, but I don't need to be propagating the theory!

So, there's the photo, and I will list the most exciting parts of it.

Because a: I need to make a list of housework to be done, but who wants to do housework?
               b: I love lists!

1.  The eggs:  They were FREE with the purchase of two packages of Borden cheese, which was only $1.74.
2.  The two cans of biscuits were only $.18!!!  Woot! Woot!
3.  I could live off of peanut butter, and that jar was fuh-REEE!
4.  Just this morning I found a recipe for pulled pork when I was clipping coupons, and guess what?  I got that pork tenderloin for only $2.49!  I have all of the other ingredients to make it in my crock pot, and they were all free!
5.  See that Nutella?  I got it for a measly buck!  They were sold out last week when they were on sale, but I asked for a rain check and he gave me three.  So, next week I will get another Nutella, then the week after that another!  Because they were on sale for $3, and I have three different dollar off coupons, but the store only doubles the coupon once and only lets you purchase one per day...Sadness.  Anyway, I will just carry my little rain check in with me over the next two weeks and have a total of three Nutellas for three dollars!  Yum!
6.  My total bill for the day was $45.96 after taxes, and that was a savings of $21.65 with coupons, then an additional $33.91 saved counting the sale prices...Of course, you realize I feel the sale prices mean it was probably overpriced anyway, but it's pretty exciting to think I saved fifty seven percent off my bill!

Now, you may consider your day complete, but first answer me one question:
What's your favorite way to save money?

Home for the Holidays

Note:  I wrote this post on Sunday, but could not get all of my pictures to load.  So, I'm publishing it on Tuesday!

We are out at my folks for the Labor Day weekend.  Today has been the perfect day after months of triple digit weather.  We woke up to the wind howling out of the north and the temperature at a cool sixty degrees.  The  three younger kids have not come in the house at all, except to replace two way radio batteries and eat meals.

Studmuffin and The Man have been hunting dove and prairie dogs with the kids.  Today they took Dead Eye, my sister's oldest hunting.  They apparently have plenty of opportunity for bathroom humor when they are together.  So it was probably a good thing that my precious little angels decided to ride horses with Elvis.  Because quite frankly they can come up with enough bathroom humor on their own without their Dad and Uncle adding to the mix.

In an attempt to make some sort of money in this drought, my brother has bought 38 little calves.  He has figured up some total feed ration for ninety days then sell them again where he can still turn a profit even with a thirty percent death loss.  I pray it works for him.  Something's got to give.  They only have 40 bales of hay between the two of them, and they typically go into winter with over 600.  Round bales are up to $130/bale depending on what it is and where it's from, and even how old it is.  It is a scary time for my family...

Three of David's calves are on the bottle, and a few others appear so little as if they should be too, but they would not take it.  Oh well, they only have two bottles, and besides three bottle calves and three kids who are still not to cool to play with calves is a perfect balance! 

I helped my dad doctor some of the sick ones.  It seems to go with the territory of buying calves that some come down with shipping fever.  It only took maybe fifteen minutes to sort off the sick ones and run them through the shoot.  Dad suggested I hold the rope to drop the gate behind the first one in the shoot...

That is the weeny job.  "Really?  I have to do the boring job?"

And, of course he "let" me run them from the crowding pen and into the lane to the shoot...Sadly, not one single calf kicked me, or balked at the shoot, or even pooped down my leg!  Which really seems as if they aren't truly sick, just faking it so they can get a shot.

Or something weird like that.

Anyway, I love being with the cattle and horses.  It brings back memories of all the time I got to spend with my dad growing up.  I am 6, 8,and 12 years younger than any of my siblings.  My brother was in  a Prodigal phase through most of my growing up years, so since the age of about ten, I was the only one home.  Dad, Mom and I could work a truck load of cattle at less than two minutes per calf.  The bull calves would slow us down, but we had a system, and everyone knew exactly what role to play.  At that time, my dad ran a yearling operation and he ran about 2000 yearlings each year.  This translated into working cattle or moving cattle every single weekend.  It seemed as if a Saturday was not complete if I wasn't washing cow poop out of my pony tail at the end of the day...

And I loved it.

While Dad &; I were doctoring cattle my girls and Elvis, my sister Paula's boy, were riding horses.  Dad was suggesting that after we finished we ought to go down to the trees where the kids have a fort that is constantly under construction.  He wasn't sure they could get back on the horse themselves.  Appy may be 29 years old, but the old bronc never did learn enough patience to stand still while you mount.  And he's ridiculously tall. 

I think if we just leave them be with the horses, they'll figure out how to take care of themselves.  After doctoring cattle, bandaging Dad's hand where a calf slammed it up against the side of the chute, then decided to jump around, cleaning the five pounds of mud off of Elvis's shoe where he "had" to wade into a pond to retrieve his dove yesterday, we headed down to the trees, a mile north of the house to see if kids were ready to remount.  We topped the hill to find them all mounted and returning home.

Bookworm figured out that if she hooked her knee in Appy's stirrup and muscled her way up, she could swing her right leg over, then get in the saddle.  Sugar is just an average sized horse, so Elvis was able to reach his stirrup to mount, then grab Popcorn's hand and drag her on behind him...

And all of this after Sugar decided to rear up with Elvis on her!  The kids are getting so big and brave!

I refrained from saying "I told you so."  But I wanted to. 

After the kids got home, I helped them unsaddle and walked the horses back to the pasture to remove their bridles.  The kids stood and petted them for about thirty seconds, then they were off to do whatever it is they do...

I stood there and rubbed Sugar's ears and took my knuckles and massaged the spot on her forehead between her big brown eyes that all horses love.  I stroked her all over and talked about how sweet she was, even if she did give the kids a little rodeo today.  I assured her they would be better cowboy's because of it.



Then I moved on to Appy.  Sugar was not happy with her session ending, and she reminded me of her presence numerous times by placing her right ear on my left shoulder and rubbing her head on me.  I chuckled, gave her another little love down, then told her to let Appy have a turn.

Darling, cantankerous old Appy. We have had him for twenty six years.  Where he used to be mostly red with white appaloosa speckles and a white rump, he is now gray.  He is skinny and he drools when he eats.  Dad has even moved to buying him senior formula horse feed in the hopes of putting some meat on him for the winter...

It hurts my heart to look at him, and it worries me to think of him being ridden.  But he loves to be ridden and kicks up a big fuss if he suspects he will be left out.  I rubbed his forehead and he closed his eyes in horsey bliss.  I moved to his side and scratched his cheek and ears and buried my face in his neck.  He let out a great contented sigh and I breathed in a deep breath. 

He smells so perfect.  There is just something so perfectly "home" about the scent of horse sweat.  It is not a bad smell.  It is musky and unique.  It smells like wind and grass and carefree days.  It smells like blistering hot days with dirt in your teeth from chasing cattle.  It smells like leather gloves that have been soaked in the stock tank to form perfectly to your hands.  It smells like your dad's lap after he has come in from working all day long and is sitting in the recliner to catch the weather before he sits down to supper.

It just smells perfect.

For another take on life out at my folk's, go take a look at Paula's blog. She did a great touching story!  Anyway, it brought a tear to my eye!

What makes your heart yearn for home?

What I Do

I'm a nurse.  I know.  News flash, right? 

I've been thinking about it all week.  It's been one of those "Why am I a nurse?"  and "I love being a nurse" week.

I've been thinking of all that transpired this week, and I've been thinking it seems that there should be a blog in there somewhere, but I'm not sure I can convey the angst and beauty I've experienced this week.

Monday night I was on call and we worked on one patient for nearly four hours.  Her pain was out of control due to advanced cancer and I gave that woman more medicine than I've ever given one human being.  More than I felt was probably safe, but what do you do when your patient is weeping and jerking all over the table during a very delicate procedure and she is crying out to God?  You look at your doctor who tells you to give her more medicine and you do it.

 I called and checked on her first thing Tuesday morning, then talked to her family on Wednesday.  They all said that she had been anxious all Monday night and didn't sleep at all.  While that is sad, I was relieved I didn't kill her with the quantity of meds and variety I had been pumping in her trying to get her comfortably through the procedure.

Tuesday we had a patient who has been with us for a while come in.  She is dying of liver cancer.  Her granddaughter had brought her in for one last drainage of the fluid collection on her abdomen that often  results from liver diseases.  I was afraid she was going to die before I got her from the wheelchair to the stretcher.  I asked "Tiffany" how she was able to get her to the car and then to the wheelchair to come to our department.  She confessed she just hugged her and total lifted her.  The patient's heart rate was in the 130s-160 and she was not making eye contact.  She would answer questions slowly and laboriously.  I sat down and asked Tiffany if she wanted me to transfer her grandmother to the ER or take her home to die.  She decided to take her home.  We sat in the hall and I held her while she cried.  Tiffany is about my age and has a beautiful little boy that she takes with her everywhere she takes her grandmother.  She kept her grandmother beautifully groomed with lovely hair, and manicured toes and fingers.  I told Tiffany that she is one of the bravest women I've ever met.  I was proud of what she had chosen to do for her grandmother.  I know she'll never regret that decision to care for her grandmother.  It has not been easy.  But I know it was the right thing for her to do, and you could see the love they had for each other every time my patient would speak of her precious granddaughter.

Later in the day on Tuesday we had an urgent case added.  The patient had an obstruction between her kidney and bladder, so her right kidney was not draining urine.  Consequently this eighty something year old woman was in pain.  The pain medicine had made her very confused and combative.  When I got her, the doctor pointed out that the key to this procedure was going to be speed.  We had to put her on her belly on a table not much wider than an ironing board and convince her to lie still while the doctor placed a tube through the skin and into the kidney to relieve the pressure.  One of my fellow nurses told me, "I don't have a good feeling about this."  I was surprised because while I was worried about how we were going to get her settled into position, I wasn't worried worried...Like the "not good feeling" worried.

I did express concern to the doctor that she was going septic, which simply means that there is an infection in her blood, and it goes systemic, and can have very scary results.  He said "Okay, but we have to get this tube in to fix it."  I agreed. 

Well, after we used four staff members to wrestle a 50 kilogram woman onto the table, tied her hands and feet, and I gently medicated her, with the age and weight burdening my brain, she finally settled down.  My doctor worked like a fiend and had the tube in within a five minutes. 

However, her blood pressure plummeted...

She went unresponsive.  We flipped her over onto the stretcher and I gave her reversals for the meds I'd given her, hoping it was a case of skinny frail white woman receiving too much sedation, even though I'd barely given her anything.

No response. 

Of course her IV went bad.  The good news with that was that she had beautiful veins, the kind nurses look on lustfully when they pass by you...And since she was now calm, I got a new IV in no problem.  I gave her more reversals.  Still no response.  I started pumping her full of fluids and called in a "rapid response" which basically gets the Code Team there before a full code actually happens...

She came around a little.  She began to answer questions and her pressure recovered a bit.  Not enough to relax us, but a bit.  We got her placed in the intensive care unit.  By the time the rush was over, her son and daughter in law had went to her original room on a medical/surgical unit to get her belongings.  I hated that I missed them.  I had prayed with them before the procedure and reassured her daughter in law that we would take good care of her.  We talked about God being in control and caring about all of our worries.  We prayed that they would have peace and that the patient would be calm for the procedure.  I don't know how they felt.  I'm sure they were scared when they heard the call for assistance over the hospital PA.  I wish I had caught up with them Wednesday to chat with them and learn how their loved one was.  I wish I had sought them out at the end of the day on Tuesday to hug their necks and tell them I was sorry for their family member's illness.

But I didn't.  And there wasn't even any reason not to.  I was completely bored on Wednesday.  So bored that a fellow nurse and I decided to do the eleven flights of stairs up and down (of course, why would we stay on the roof?) and do ten sets of squats at each landing.  Then a few hours later we did it again.  All I did to earn my paycheck was audit old charts and stock carts, call patients lined up for the next week, and make sure everything was neat and tidy.  And while all of that needed done, it isn't what I really visualize myself doing when I head to work in the morning. I finished off my day with a four hour mandatory class.  Again, not what I think of doing when I am at work.

So really there was no reason to not follow up with my little lady.  I just didn't.  I guess the difference with her was that whatever was wrong with her, I had no control over, yet it was a relatively expected outcome.  It was all part of the pathology of her illness.  I knew that, and wasn't overly surprised when events panned out like they did.  Whereas the first patient had metastatic cancer, but what I was doing to her was way out of my comfort zone.

In each case I was doing what I felt was best and what I knew to do.  The difference between the first and the last is back up.  In the call case we were there until late in the evening, and I really didn't have a lot of people to bounce off ideas about what to do, and what else I could try to get her pain under control.  The second case was during the middle of the day, and two other nurses from my department were right there talking things out with me, discussing what we should try next, and the doctor was able to get on the phone to the patient's attending physician. 

So. 

I'm a nurse.  It's weird.  Sometimes I wonder why I do it.  I especially wonder what is wrong with me to love doing it.  Especially as I'm sitting here typing with a headache that is directly tied to they tension I've been carrying in my neck and shoulders this week.

But I do it.  I love doing it, and on some weird level I would love it if my girls did it too.   We could have that weird nurse bond that commiserates about annoying, smelly patients and gripey needy doctors.  We could swap horror stories of blood squirting and vomit flying...And we could commiserate over each others mistakes, and the wish we had done it different cases...

I'm a nurse.

It's what I do.

She Doesn't Want to Dress Like Me.

My oldest is having wardrobe drama.

Popcorn has had wardrobe drama since she was old enough to say "no."  She went through a boy shirt phase.  She always wanted those blue striped boys shirts when she was two.  And I totally let her wear them.  Because what did it matter?  It's just a shirt.  She went through a monochromatic phase between three and four:  Whatever color she was wearing, it had to be that same color head to toe...

That was always interesting.  And really kind of cute.

Once she started she school mixed and matched clothing and came up with some outlandish outfits, and if I pointed out that orange shorts did not match a green shirt and purple socks, she would firmly declare she did not care.   And I would decide I didn't either as long as all necessary parts were covered and send her on her way.  Some of my friends were openly skeptical about that phase.  But, she passed it, and now she is in a trendy/pink/purple/sparkle/ten thousand accessories phase...

But the real point of this post is Bookworm's wardrobe drama.  She has always had one rule about clothing:  People must not notice or comment on what she wears.  A compliment from the "pop peeps" as she calls them meant that she would never wear that particular outfit again.  Because people noticed her, and she didn't like people looking at her...And she also had a stigma that popular people are not nice people, so she refused to be like them.  I assure you, she did not get this stigma from me.  I blame it on her bookwormish tendencies because the popular girls are always vicious in kids books. 

So, yesterday I found her on the living room floor.  Crying.  Because I will not let her wear her Justice shorts because they do not reach her finger tips.  And that is the dress code.  She claims that her arms go clear to her knees, so that rule is clearly unfair to her.  Yes, her arms are long.  So are mine.  She has long legs.  So do I.  It is hard to find shorts that fit her skinny frame that are also to the bottom of her fingertips.  However, there is a dress code.  And while I consider many rules stupid, and don't follow them myself (the speed limit being a prime example), I am making her obey dress code.  Apparently many girls are wearing very short shorts.  I can attest to this, as I've seen it with my own eyes.  But just because they are getting away with breaking the rules doesn't make it right...(insert speed limit comments here.)

Today is "blue out" at school.  This is homecoming week, so there are themes for each day.  I told her to wear her new school shirt (which is blue, duh) that her dad paid an exorbitant amount for, with a pair of capris.  Because her shorts are all in the wash.  She does not want to wear capris.  She wants to wear shorts.

That are too short.

I said, "What is wrong with these capris?  They are cute!  I would totally wear them!"

And to that, Gentle Reader, I'm quite sure she thought to herself "And you are 35 years old and I will not be caught DEAD dressing like you."

Strangely, she still refused to wear them.

So, I convinced her to wear a pair of shorts that I bought at a garage sale that are size 00 and too big in the waist for her.  I made her put on  a belt, did the experimental attempt to pull them off and declared them good.  And, just for good measure I pointed out that they are shorts from a very trendy store which means the original owner paid entirely too much for them, so she can go to school proudly in her name brand shorts, her over priced tee, and feathers in her hair and call herself cute.

And get over it if anyone comments on how cute she looks.

My Future as a Bull Fighter is in Jeopardy

A few weeks ago I went out to see my folks.  It was hot.  It was dry.  But that did not keep us from riding horses!  No sirree bob!  My mom offered to drive us in the pickup to find the horses.  They have a full section of land to wander (that's one square mile) in this drought, along with a herd of cattle.  Now, I could have accepted this generous offer but it just didn't seem like the thing I would have done as a girl on the farm.  I decided to show my children the proper way to catch your bronc if you live on the farm and you are around the age of nine or ten.

You take two feed buckets.  One bucket has a nibble or two of sweet feed in it.  The other has a bridle to catch the bronc with.  Two buckets is necessary only if you are going after two horses.  Otherwise I'd just toss the bridle in with the feed.  I was also known to tuck a lead rope in my back pocket and head to the pasture with a handful of cake to catch a horse.  However, I was unsure if these horses had a halter on, and I intended to ride the horses back, so a bridle for each was more in order.  In addition, we planned to ride them as soon as we caught them, so naturally we at least needed a bridle!

Please also understand that I really had no idea where they were.  The most logical place was by the pond.  Or the trees.  Or perhaps anywhere at all in the pasture...The only thing I was certain of was that they were not in the 40 acres behind the house.  We decided to cut at a diagonal across the pasture to the pond...As we entered the field on the east side, I spotted the horses further to the east of us.

"Heeeey horsES!"  I gave the cry my dad has always used to call the horses in to eat...I confess, I did not hold out much hope that they would respond to my cry as I am not the source of their breakfast on a regular basis.

Imagine my surprise when they not only came, but came at a trot to greet us!  They were so ready for diversion that they all but stuck their heads in the bridles for us!  You will notice the very authentic cowgirl gear my girls have on.  Because clearly every cowgirl wears brand new Pumas or purple sparkled Sketchers through a pasture and to ride horses!  Right?

In truth, the little hooligans had left their boots and old shoes at our house and brought nothing but brand new shoes to their grandparents...*SIGH*  And they even failed to pack a single pair of JEANS!  Good grief, who ARE these children?

As you can see the cattle were quite interested in the treat the horses were receiving...

And also you can see that I did NOT get to ride a horse back to the house.  I was informed that the girls were riding by themselves.  I shrugged to myself and decided I could use the exercise to walk back home.  After all, carrying two buckets through the hot dry pasture wasn't enough exercise.

So, the girls left me and my buckets and headed off, no saddles, no blankets, nothing to pad Bookworm's delicate derriere from old Appy's bony back.  Remember, Appy is 29 years old.  I have all sorts of sad thoughts about how hard this hot summer has been on him.  But we will not get into that right now.

What you are interested in (hopefully, and I apologize for taking twenty minutes to get here) is why I fear my future as a bull fighter...

So, I put my kids on the horses, and sent them off.  I watched them ride off with a little catch in my chest at a memory of happier, simpler times, picked up my now empty buckets and headed off to the road...

I had walked about 25 feet when I realized I had company.  Two black angus cows were walking at my hip.  And head butting each other.  And trying to stick their heads in my bucket without actually touching me.

Now, I realize I've been away from the country for a while, but I was completely inappropriately dressed.  As in, bermuda shorts (I realize nobody calls them bermuda shorts any more, but I'm not sure what one does call them), tank top and thin tennis shoes inappropriately dressed.  I tried to ignore my bovine companions and continue on to the gate.  And they kept head butting and shoving each other.

I kept visualizing them shoving each other into me, and consequently stepping on my inadequately shod foot...In addition to the fact that my brother was barely moving as a result of a run in with a cow two weeks earlier...Oh, I'm sorry but simply have to give a back story here:

Due to the severe drought my dad and brother have had to sell off a good chunk of their herds to avert a bigger financial disaster than they are already facing.  David had decided to sort some cattle (by himself, I think) while my parents were on vacation.  Apparently one mama cow did not appreciate being sorted from her calf.  She took off after David...

Okay, I just have to back track even further right here and say that many times as I was helping sort cattle my Granddad Marvin would say "Quit jumping out of the way!  The cows don't want to run over you.  Stand your ground.  They will back off."  In fact I remember very clearly him saying that very thing to me just before I found myself plastered against the fence with the wind knocked out of me.  I can also remember marveling at my dad's ability to put one hand on the top rail of our six foot corals and vault over them when a particularly angry cow was quite upset with him...

I never did master that fete.

So, back to David.  The cow chased David.  David tried the one handed fence vault trick, and suddenly found himself flying through the air.  From what I understand the cow caught him and threw him, and he landed on his tail bone...I don't know if he cracked it or what (he doesn't tend to believe in doctorin') but I do know two weeks later he could barely move.

Now.  Back to the hungry cows.  I was thinking of my toes.  And the fact that I like having all of my nails on them.  And I was thinking of David who could barely move without groaning...

I decided to just set the buckets down and let the cows satisfy their curiosity.

They kicked and snuffled and licked the buckets...And they licked and snuffled them some more.  Eventually they lost interest in their game, and moved on.

I chuckled to myself and picked up my buckets and began to whistle the Andy Griffith tune as I headed to the gate.  As I walked I heard a cow bawling behind me, and it sounded as if she was quite close.  I looked behind me, and I saw this not so little lady not walking up to me, but flat out running, neck stretched out and bawling like I was in the feed wagon, complete with caker and hay fork on the back.

I looked around and though there didn't seem to be any other cattle paying attention, I decided to abandon my buckets.  After all, there was a perfectly good pickup at the house that I could drive back to fetch my abandoned buckets.

So.  I walked the mile back the house.  Bucketless.  As I got to the house and told my tale, I only had one thing to say to my parents.  "Please don't tell David I couldn't get home with the buckets.  He will never let me live it down."

Nope.  Sibling rivalry never dies.

P.S.  I feel compelled to explain cattle terminology.  I realize 98% of my readers know this, but just in case:  The term cattle refers to a mixed herd of cows, calves, heifers, steers, bulls, whatever.  It's kind of like saying "people."  Heifers are females who haven't calved.  Cows have had calves.  Calves are calves, bulls are bulls and steers are....well....They just don't rattle when you shake them.

Kapeesh? 

Drama Llama

I have all sorts of things to tell you about my family. 

I can't help but notice my nine year daughter has better handwriting than I ever will.

However, apparently some children are becoming more sensitive and would be horrified if I told the story of them getting off the bus a half mile from our house and running all the way home in the 108 degree heat because they were upset about something at school, and the fact that their sister was not on the bus to comfort them as the sister had went home for a play date... The unnamed child decided she could not sit on the bus a minute longer.

Drama llama.  I'm telling you.

Popcorn has been struggling with multiplication facts, so we've been refreshing her.  They stayed with my folks last week and apparently my dad decided to spring a pop quiz on her.  "Hey, what's 9X7?"

Popcorn looked at him and said, "Now what brought THAT up?"

And Dad laughed and failed to make her give him the correct answer.

She's sneaky that way.

School has begun.  Popcorn is liking school, which I interpret as "Loving School" and she has corrected me numerous times that she only likes it.  Considering she had determined she hated fourth grade before the year even began, I'm calling liking loving.  Because I'm the mom.



Bookworm is in MIDDLE SCHOOL.  They are having a back to school dance this Friday.  WHAT???  She just turned eleven!  She is not going to no stinkin' school dances.  Luckily, none of her friends are going. And she is going to a birthday party that night.  So, I'm off the hook.

WHEW!




The kittens are settling in well, as you could tell from my last post.  They have taught Lord Fluffypants (Oliver) how to play again.  This morning as I was sitting on the back porch sipping coffee Shyla dashed after him through the grass that is embarrassingly tall...He made the impulsive decision to run up a tree.

My focusing skills are amazing, no?

You realize he's all of eighteen pounds, right?  He got about four feet up and appeared to decide he did NOT belong in trees as it was a tax on his claws.  He clumsily repositioned his super sized self and jumped down with a giant THUD.

You know it's a tad disconcerting to watch an eighteen pound tom cat pounce on a three month old kitten.  Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera as they were wrestling in the yard...

When will I learn that I can never leave me camera in the house?

Well, today is my day off.   The kids have started school, so that means that I have mountains of housework to do since they no longer have time to be my Cinderellas.  So, I'm off to get laundry done and floors cleaned and bathtubs scrubbed.

Not to be redundant:  But the kittens are clearly NEVER in the house.

What are your plans for today?

Here Kitty Kitty!

The kittens...

 are never...

 EVER

in the house.