Bad Kitty Mommy

I turn Magnificent Octopus in to The Publishers That Be on Monday. I will spend as long as it takes tonight trying to figure out how to make bookmarks in Word so that I can then, flying wildly by the seat of my pants, figure out how to convert it into a .pdf.

Like I should be born knowing this, they assume. If you ever have to take that one intelligence test where you have to explain the meaning of adages (is it the Miller Analogies Test? I don't remember, butsoanyway...), and you get "the devil is in the details " just think of me and you'll do fine.

But it's times like this that I'm glad I broke down and bought the legit MS Office, because I don't think this would have worked in OpenOffice, so that at least was money (begrudgingly) well-spent.

Now for money that is being spent, but not begrudgingly: I've done little other than type obsessively for like, the past week. During this time, one of my little cats vanished. Puff-Puff is a Siamese, and I've had her for five years (one of three Siamese I have). Puff is a little strange. If there is such a thing as kitty autism, I think ol' Puff has it. My other two cats are normal. One I've had for thirteen years; his mommy was a prizewinning showcat, and I got him intentionally. Well, he was a present, but that's beside the point. The other I've had for about three years, because I rescued her from Animal Control; my mom went there with a friend of hers that was looking for her lost cat, saw a Siamese, and called me. I had to go rescue her because no one else had applied to adopt her, she was going to die, and Siameses are a little confuzzled at indignities such as Animal Control. Yes, I know that Animal Control is like Hell for *all* animals, but Siamese, well.... They not only don't understand it like other animals, but they feel a little bit insulted by the suggestion that they should be put in there, as if they were just any cat.

No, it does no good to tell them that they are just any cat. My 13-yo gives me this, "You ARE kidding--right, Babe?" look when I have to feed him Deli Cat from the corner store 'cos I've run out of his regular food. He'll look at the dish, then look at me, then look back down at the dish, then back at me...until I tell him that's Dinner, and walk away.

My cat calls me 'Babe' because I told him several years ago that he needs to be a little less formal. Since I said that, when I come home at night, he greets me with, "Good Evening, Babe." At least he's trying.

Yes, I am certain that my cats all have personalities, and yes, I think I can tell what they're thinking. I also think they understand English.

Butsoanyway, Puff-Puff was missing. They're all indoor cats only, so I knew she was somewhere in the house, and I was busy with Magnificent Octopus, so I didn't really think about it; I was swamped, and she's gone off and found hidey-holes in obscure places for a day before, because she's weird. Last night, I realised I hadn't seen her in like, two days, so I called for her.

No answer. She *always* at least says "Yip!" from another room, if she's busy with something.

So I went around the house, whistling "Sleigh Ride" in a sharp whistle, like she likes. I don't know what it means to her, but it means something; whenever I do it, she runs up to me,--wherever I am--yipping and headbutting me. Doesn't do it for any other song; doesn't do it if you *sing* Sleigh Ride.

Ok, I *said* she was weird.

So I go a-whistling. Nothing. I half tear up my house looking for her, because something is wrong. She's not in the house, not in the garage. Nowhere. I search until late, everywhere I can think of, until finally I have to go to sleep. Maybe she'll turn up tomorrow, I think.

This morning, after a whole three hours' worth of sleep, I get up and call and whistle again. Nothing. I have to leave, so I do, and spend the whole day tortured, thinking about Puff-Puff. I literally can't think about anything else. After class, I'm supposed to go to a talk, but I just can't stand another minute. I crap out of the talk, and rush home. I know she didn't get outside; she's like AutismKitty--she doesn't *know* there's an outside. I'm not trying to be funny; she's never shown a whit of interest in the out-of-doors. She also eats with her front paws sometimes, but that's a different story.

So I got home and tore the house up. Really--pots and pans out onto the kitchen floor, linen shelves tossed, bedroom closet now in the middle of the bedroom floor, sofas moved; you'd think an episode of It Takes A Thief had been taped here.

Which, incedentally, they have my permission to do at any time. Those guys are really cute. :-) Or maybe I'm just demented and like criminals. Who knows?

Well, I found Puff. At first I thought she was dead, but when I pulled her out from the corner underneath the TV console she'd somehow managed to cram herself under, I saw she was hyperventilating. She looked dehydrated...just sick. I raced her to the vet; she has a bladder infection [Ed. note: How?!?!?!], is very dehydrated, almost died, and might not make it anyway. She's staying at the vet until at least Monday, so they can stabilise her. It's $600, but...I feel in a way like I deserve to have to pay that much with no complaints. I mean, HOW could I have not noticed how sick she was? How? How could I have been *that* self-absorbed?

I have been crying for a while. Kicking myself for not tearing up the house last night. I should have known. Puff was suffering, and my stupid fucking self apparently didn't care.

I'm a bad kitty mommy. I really hate myself sometimes, and this is one of those times.

And I just checked my email; more changes to make to Magnificent Octopus.

I am just about *this* far away from going completely postal.