g'night

I'm exhausted. I made the stupidass mistake of eating nothing today, and by the time I left Eviljob, I was crashing in a major way. I had the soiree-thing still to make, and wasn't sure he'd throw food together, or anything that would make up for missing breakfast, lunch... I mean, we're talking over twenty-four hours since I'd eaten. So I grabbed a bag of soy nuts. The party was cool, everyone there definitely nice people. And my prof's kids are adorable. I had a good time, but the not eating and stress and everything had started up a migraine, so I was maybe not as fun as I could have otherwise been. But it was nice to just relax. He's got a beautiful house; the patio was lovely, with a fountain, pool, and two adorable birds loose! The whole patio sounded like one of my Relax With Nature cds. :-)

I'm not surprised; he's a very mellow guy. :-)

It's annoying, but I'm in one of those life-stages where, as the saying goes, it's always something. I was irritated at myself for getting a migraine, and irritated at my toe for hurting.

No, I don't know why my toe was hurting...I think it was my shoes making it go at a funny angle, or something. It still hurts.

I'd love to do up my patio and pool area like his, but all I could think of while I was there was that if I were to own birds, I'd be a bird owner for perhaps all of five minutes. I mean, my two normal Siameasles start looking lustfully up at the ceiling whenever I play a nature cd with birds chirping. It's like playing a soundtrack from Bubba Bobby's Barbeque at a WeightWatcher's meeting.

What I would like to know is how, being indoor cats, they knew to look *up*. Amazing, that.

Puff-Puff's vet called today, while I was at Eviljob; she's doing fine, is very responsive he says, and will be home on Monday. He really likes her. She grows on people; I'm sure after the first twenty-four hours of her talking back to anyone speaking (she thinks you're talking to her a lot of the time, if she's not zoning out), they've probably become accustomed to her. I've really missed her. I'm so used to taking care where I walk, so I don't step on Roadkill Kitty, that I've not known what to do with my feet these past few days.

I guess once I get her back, I will get up the guts to take my other cat in; he has a non-malignant cyst on him, and I've been afraid to take him in to have it removed, because I'm scared that if they put him under, he'll die. This actually happened to me when I was a kid; we went to pick my cat up from the vet, and the vet just told us he'd died in surgery. Hadn't even bothered to call us first. I remember standing there with my mom, crying, and the vet said it "happens all the time". Ever since then, I've never had any of my cats operated on, with the exception of my 13-yo, and only then because his vet then was like, eighty years old (if I'm exaggerating, it's not by much), and assured me that he wouldn't kill my cat, could just give him a sedative, not put him out (I don't know if he was telling the truth), and if I didn't get him neutered, he'd start spraying and stuff. So I let the vet sedate him and neuter him, and he was fine. :-) On the way home from the vet, he was so pissed off that he tore up the cardboard cat carrier they'd sent him home in.

But I moved away and haven't found a vet I trusted since, until this guy. The other vet that diagnosed him with a non-malignant cyst wanted to operate on him, but I just didn't feel right about it. I have learnt to trust my judgement. It may have been wrong, but if he had died I would have never forgiven myself. I know I'm neurotic about some things, and this is one of them. I'll readily admit that. It'll probably not change, but I'll at least be honest about it. I wish I could just turn the cat over to a courier, or something, and not have to think about it. It's the actual *handing them over* part that I just can't do. I'd scheduled surgery for my older cat with this same vet several months ago, and when it came time to take him, I just couldn't do it. I just couldn't make myself do it. It's embarrassing, but when I took Puff in, the vet told me if she had crystals in her kidneys, she would have to have surgery, and I just started crying. He thought I was upset over the cost, but I got him to understand that I didn't want her put under, and he told me that he loses maybe one cat every two to three years like that, and that's usually in a situation where if he'd had any choice about whether or not to operate, he wouldn't have, but the animal was in an emergency situation; for example, he said, he would not operate on Puff like she was when I brought her in on Thursday unless he *had* to, because the odds of her dying under anaesthesia like she was were pretty good since she was so dehydrated and had a bad infection. I asked him why another vet would say that "it happens all the time", and he said he had no idea, and that it just simply doesn't happen all the time. I think I believe him.

So, I will be getting Puff-Puff back, and everything--thank god--will be ok. It's kind of hard to believe. Now I just have to stick to my resolve to bring my other cat in for his cosmetic surgery. :-)

Thinking about that makes me scared again, but on the other hand, I'd be afraid to hand my cat over to a stranger to carry over to the vet... I mean, they could get into a car accident, the cat could get out of the carrier somehow when they weren't paying attention...anything could happen.

Some vet needs to put up a shingle with a comfy waiting room for surgeries, with a sedative dispenser in it--for owners.

I know...I'm pathetic. But Puff is ok. That's what counts. I just wish I could have gone by to see her today, but I was trapped at Eviljob. Bastards.