Stephanie Cake

What do you get when you combine a bleeding heart liberal with a furry dewy-eyed orphan? Yes, just call me "Squirrel Mama"...

I was lying in bed on Saturday around 10 am, trying to psyche myself up to haul ass out to my studio space in the shed and finish a long overdue project for a client in Kansas when Connor came tearing into the bedroom. "Mommymommymommiiiiiiieeeeeee! Come quick! Mollie and I found a squirrel baby!!!"

I threw on some jeans and trudged outside with little conviction. Lo and behold there was a baby squirrel about the size of one of those McDonald's beanie baby bears shivering and shaking under the climbing tree (its actually a bush but why fight with the kids about it). My neighbor was sure it was near death but I wasn't convinced. A quick trip to the good ole internet (squirrelworld.com?! who knew?!) learnt me that it was a girl squirrel, about 6 weeks old and she was probably dehydrated and very hungry. Apparently squirrels will nurse until they are several months old... again, who knew?!

Good sense left me, as did the urge to avoid a fight with my husband who works for the Department of Natural Resources and makes his living teaching people to "leave the goddamn wildlife alone". This little critter was just too darned cute and helpless so I had to help her.

Several hours and a trip to Royal Farms, Walmart & Petco later, she was rejuiced w/ Gatorade, washed with baby shampoo (gets the fleas to hop off) and had a belly full of puppy formula (squirrels are vegetarians so dog related foods are best in a pinch). She curled up in one of Connor's old t-shirts in a box on my workbench and cat-napped the afternoon away, enjoying a Gatorade and formula cocktail every few hours. She was very sweet and my heartstrings kept turning a blind eye to logic... "let's keep her! she'd make such a cute pet!", they said. I had to bitch slap my heartstrings quite a few times.

Upon Rob's return home, I took my tongue lashing but I know his coal black heart started crumbling when he saw her. Between warnings such as "did you wash your hands??" and "are there fleas all over the place now??" he did mention "she is awfully cute...". He finally relented and got off the throw-the-thing-in-the-woods-already/even-cute-things-need-to-die-its-nature's-way-you-know tip and got me the phone number of one of the local rehabbers he has worked with. He even went as far as driving me and squirrel girl to her place on Sunday morning.

A word on the rehabilitator.... Gerta at Wildlife Rescue Inc. in Hampstead, MD is a genuine angel with a heart of gold. She takes in all kinds of wildlife in trouble - raccoons, possums, foxes, ducks, hawks, neglected and discarded exotic birds, songbirds, etc. And she does it without any support, all on donations. Our squirrel girl joined about 5 other squirrel orphans (and a hateful looking possum infant) in a warming box - they will spend the fall and winter with Gerta and be released in the spring. A stage whisper to all the rich tree huggers: If you have any loose cash lying around and need a worthy cause - Wildlife Rescue is an excellent donation choice. There are also many other good hearted licensed rehabbers all over the country who would love a generous donation.

So, feeling sad because I was missing squirrel girl but happy to know she was in a safe and loving place, we returned home. And then....

About an hour later, squirrel baby II showed up in our neighbor's yard. He was a little worse for wear, having spend his night out in the elements and not in the warm safety of the shed like his sister. Rob finally relented ("oh, for christ's sakes - go get the box and the food and take care of him already!!!") and let me feed and bathe him. He was unfortunately infested not only with fleas but with bottle fly eggs - ACK. But after a little bath and lots to drink he was looking, and obviously feeling, better. He had a good night and I gave him breakfast after getting Connor ready for school this morning. He was notably scrappier than his sister - frequently "chrrruuupping" at me which I was feeding him and bathing him.

Rob was off work today and planned to head back to Gerta's place once the morning routine was done. Since today was also Connor's first day in second grade, we upheld the family tradition of Rob taking his picture in the front yard with his backpack, all grinning and sheepish. Waiting for the bus, we perched on the tailgate of the truck, chugging second cups of coffee, and teased Connor about school.

All of a sudden, Rob exclaimed "oh no! look at that!" Following his gesture to the spot he had just been standing for the back-to-school photography, I see squirrel baby III. Rob has, at this point, given up on his stern squirrel hating facade and rushed to the shed to get the box containing squirrel baby II and the Gatorade/formula cocktail. I adminstered a quick meal, stopping to kiss Connor goodbye as he boarded the bus.

Squirrel baby III was smaller than his brother and sister - maybe the runt of the litter? He was also the most fiesty. But I think this had more to do with him also being the hungriest. After a belly full, he settled down for a nap with his brother. I was only able to spend a few minutes with them this morning as I had to head to work. Rob canvassed the yard to be sure there were no more orphans (knock wood, cross fingers!!!) and the story ends happily with them joining a whole preschool class of squirrel babies, including their sister, this afternoon.

Happiness is a warm squirrel baby.

I would be a bad citizen if I didn't include the following disclaimer... its generally a very bad idea to mess with wildlife. Although most animals don't have rabies, it is a very real risk. Even without rabies, wild animals carry staph infections, tetanus, salmonella, fleas, lice, parasites and all kinds of other nastiness.

Also, much of the time, "orphaned babies" aren't really orphaned. They're really more like the lost toddler at Wal-mart - the mom, in a frenzy, will eventually find it. Well meaning people cause more harm than good by scooping babies up without backing off and giving the mom a chance to come back.

Examples include: owl babies... before they can fly, they will climb down the tree using their beak and feet and hop around. They almost always return to their nest without any intervention and should be left alone. Squirrels... are often shoved out of the nest as the litter grows. Given time, the mom will come get the fallen youngster. (in our case we are almost 100% sure, the mom has been killed, however) Vulture babies (yeah I know, who rescues vulture babies??)... some types of vultures actually nest right on the ground so the babies are mistaken as orphans when they are actually just hanging out while their mom hunts for dead vermin.

Finally, in most localities there are state laws - and even some federal laws - prohibiting the handling of wildlife. In most places, you have 48 hours to tend to a distressed critter before you need to hand it over to a licensed rehabber.

Today, while driving to work, I got stuck behind an Orkin truck. I noticed that the vehicle tailgate sported a warning to the effect of "Don't follow too closely! This vehicle makes frequent stops!"

What the hell is up with that??? Do I really need to be worried that the Orkin man is going to slam on the brakes on the beltway to get out and exterminate something? I think there may be bigger issues afoot if the Orkin man is making sudden stops all over town to indiscriminately kill things.

Doesn't the Orkin man have to slow down and pull off the exit like the rest of us? Does he get to pull those stunt car type of moves like th General Lee in the Dukes of Hazzard??? Should I assume that if I call Orkin for say.... an ant problem.... that the exterminator is going to come screaming into my driveway and stop on a dime IN HIS TRUCK right in my kitchen? And if some foolish tailgater has been following too closely, they too run the risk of ending up in my humble abode?

Old ladies and soccer moms who drive 30 mph under the speed limit in the fast lane and hammer their brakes anytime they sense a cop may be within 25 square mile radius... shouldn't THEY have a "This vehicle makes sudden stops!" sticker plastered all over their Caddies and/or mini-vans??? Isn't following ANYONE too closely a problem? Why does the Orkin man get such special treatment?? I wanna know. I really wanna know!!!

I've been giving a lot of thought to body image lately. I know its a horse that women's magazines and the media and feminists have beaten to death but being a generally obsessive individual, I have been pondering my own image with a rather critical eye.

I work in an industry where there are far fewer women than men. And the women are mostly single, in their mid-20's to early 30's and very image conscious. Fake tans, boob jobs, eating disorders, weekly mani- and pedicures, the works. Average dress size - 2 or 4. And I'm not in Hollywood nor the fashion industry. I work for a run of the mill (although up and coming and very profitable, mind you! [god forbid my boss ever reads this]) financial services/sales organization.

In my world, career tends to define me even when I don't want it to. (case in point: March 2003 - Sept 2003: I was an unemployed slob, through and through, top to bottom, head to toe) And being surrounded by vanity.... ok, I'm just going to say it - SKINNY BITCHES.... in my career, nay my identity, puts an ugly, indelible mark on my self esteem.

All my life I've struggled with being tall and sort of lunky. When I was in high school I briefly dated a guy who was about 4 inches shorter than me. That was catastrophic for both of us and we mutually called it quits. I slouched a lot. My pants always seemed to be high waters. As an adult, however I have reveled in my height -- I can reach stuff other people can't, you generally can't tell when my roots are growing out because most people can't see the top of my head... but all that is another subject entirely.

Weight has been a different animal entirely. I have no recollection of weight consciousness when I was a a teenager and I was recently suprised to learn that several friends thought I was seriously anorexic because I was considered "so tall and thin" and was never seen eating. My only teenage memories of my body, other than its tallness are:

• A boyfriend (not the shrimpy one) laughing at a middle school picture of me because I "looked fat". I probably did shed some baby fat around this period but in truth I have a round face that has always made me look chubby plus my mother used to dress me like a porky little frump... so in hindsight I'm sure it was an optical illusion... but I digress. The point is, I was horrified by his observation. And baffled because I had never thought of myself in those terms.
• Around the same time, I was changing my shirt at a relative's house and caught my reflection in a full length mirror. I could see my ribcage and I thought to myself "hmmm, I must be really skinny".
• I also remember, due to the esteem crushing practice of height and weight measurements in gym class, that I was approximately 5'8" and 120 - 125 lbs for most of HS. And I wore a size 8.

In college everything changed. Bad dining hall food and insipid depression helped usher in the freshman 15.... er, 25. It all came off my sophmore year - I biked to school, smoked like a freight train and rarely ate because my financial aid didn't cover dining hall anymore. And there started the yo-yo weight drama. Junior year I moved farther away and drove to school - put some pounds back on - luckily I had a better job and could afford to buy bigger clothes. Senior year I was back near campus - biking and not eating. But then I graduated and started planning a wedding - it was a bitch squeezing into my wedding dress. I bounced between a size 10 and 11 in those years.

Out in the work force I got a job with Target. (yahoo, Targhetto!) Target's management training program includes fantastic learning experiences... and lots of free lunches. And candy. Oh, the candy. I managed to work my way up to a size 12/14. Once on the job, however, I was literally hustling my ass off - went back to a size 10/11. For about three months. Then I got pregnant.

While my pregnancy was rough - especially the first trimeseter: I threw up non-stop and struggled to put any weight on at all - post-birth there seemed to be no stopping the increasing girth of my ass and other accoutrements. My son is almost 7 and no amount of dedication to the diet, exercise, or willpower seems to be able to turn back time for me. I think pregnancy totally wrecked my metabolism.

In the past 7 years, I've also battled some major depression as well as some major turning points. I stopped weighing myself a long time ago and mostly go by how my pants fit. Some days its great - I end up wearing the optical illusion pants that fit really well and make me look like a supermodel (in my head, at least). But most days it seems to be the pants that ride up my ass and are too tight in the thighs and force me to suck in my stomach to get them zipped. So I go into denial mode and tell myself they shrunk in the wash and curse the manufacturer for making such crappy clothing. And while I'm proud to sport a sizeable load in the breast department, I was horrified to discover that a recent bra purchase was considered "PLUS SIZE". WTF????

And then I go to work and spend the day toiling alongside 25 year old sylph-like creatures (aforementioned skinny bitches). I watch them eat their Lean Cuisines and moan about how fat they look in their size XS bikini and it seriously crushes my ego. So I resolve to go to the gym more and stop eating Taco Bell Chix Quesadillas. But at the end of the day I end up ditching the gym in favor of time with my kid and we feast on quesadillas.....clearly a vicious cycle if I ever saw one.

....but in the long run, after some thought, I think I'm probably happier than the skinny bitches. I may be pasty, out of shape, pretty much hate the way I look and sport seriously ill-fitting pants. But I also have a great kid who is more important to me than looking like a supermodel. And if he's the reason that my thighs have grown to astonomical proportions, well then bring on the muu-muu's, baby!

The things people spend time debating never cease to amaze.
Apparently the people at Wired have decided that INTERNET doesn't deserve to be capitalized. It's just internet.

I heard about this debacle on WTOP this weekend. It was the only radio station I could get driving thru western Virginia (not West Virginia!!! Keep in mind, people, the two are editorially different).

Now I'm just as anally retentive as the next guy about punctuation and capitalization and whatnot but what gives??? What does it matter if its Internet or internet? Tech geeks don't capitalize anything anyway.

What's next??? A debate over the difference between god and God???? I stand corrected.
The internet IS God.

a gigantic step for moi.

So I've totally neglected my web identity for a really long time. Shit happens. But I'm back. And not as Kitty Black this time.

I decided to create a NEW and IMPROVED identity... Stephanie Cake. A not so amusing story... honestly, you'd have to have been there... but Cake is a combination of my maiden and married names -- Capps and Dyke. A vast improvement over both I might add. Anyway, I'm now considering it my nom de plume. That's "pen name" for you illiterate rubes.

Kitty Black is still around. Not officially dead but slightly retired for the time being. Kitty will read books and create art and emulate a church mouse for now.

S. Cake will be the alpha identity. Cake is a ballsy broad who wears women's sized clothing, drinks tons of coffee, smokes Marlboro Lights and don't take shit from no one. She wants to be a writer but she's been out of practice. So she'll be using the vanity method of internet publishing for a bit.

She's thinking of buying a mountain bike but spent the weekend on her ass, eating organic ginger snaps and Taco Bell chix quesadillas and watching bad teen movies. Tomorrow she will go to work and try to erase the lifeless weekend that was meant to erase the last week at work.