And Then There Was One

::singing::

In deep despair, on lonely nights, he knows just how you feel…

No, not jeebus…Smokey.  :-)  Removing 25,000 cds from my car has forced me to cycle in new ones; today it was ABC.  :-D  

No…s’true; I have no pride whatsoever.

I scurried around trying to find presents for everyone today; I got something (I think) for most everyone, and right now I am helping ‘Pants with an end-of-term paper via phone and IM because I have some previous exposure to the topic.

Oh…and ‘cos I am a sucker.  But we knew that.

Today marvellous things have happened; I set my trap this morning, and Momcat appeared interested.  I sat there for a bit, hoping she would go ahead and take the leap, but too many people kept coming up to me (one of the drawbacks of having been somewhere for so long), and that was making Momcat skittish, so I left.  I went shopping to pick up prezzies for everyone I could think of.  I even found a gorgeous diffuser for my stylist, and some pomegranate oil for it. Very cool.  

In the middle of my shopping—which was escapist shopping, ‘cos I was trying to not think about what I was going to have to do to Mr Handsome Cat when the vet called to say he was ready for pickup, I figured that I would phone Chrissy and at least *ask* her if she could take Mr Handsome Cat so that I knew in my heart that I had asked everyone and literally had no option other than to release him.  I know she is full-up, but…I owed it to Mr Handsome Cat and my heart to *ask*.  I managed to phone her cell just as she was struggling to get into her car because she had lost the keys.  

Chrissy has done an amazing amount for me, so I offered to help—to call my auto club, or something—she was strapped and stressed, so she accepted.  And, ironically enough, she was at a PetsMart not fifteen minutes away from me, so I went.  

Before I called the auto club, we got help from a very nice man who was able to reach in her slightly-opened window and get at the lock, something neither she nor I could manage.  Then I stayed to talk for a bit, and Meg phoned to ask if I wanted to have lunch with her.  I tried to invite Chrissy, but the other rescue person in PetSmart today (Faith, who only does dogs, just as Chrissy does only cats) had already ordered Italian for Chrissy.  But Chrissy saw how upset I was over doing the neuter-and-release thing for Mr Handsome Cat, and SHE SAID SHE WOULD PICK HIM UP FROM THE VET, PUT HIM WITH A FOSTER HOME TO TAME HIM, AND PLACE HIM!  Yes!  You read me correctly!  Mr Handsome Cat will find a home!  No more parking lots or scrounging for food for him! YAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  

I swear—I could have cried.  Or done a happy dance.  

I did hug her about a million times.  :-)  Well, it was for Mr Handsome Cat.  I already paid for Mr Handsome Cat last night, so Chrissy picked him up this evening.  As it turns out, I pay a little more at this vet than Chrissy; I paid $39 for a neutering and rabies vaccine, and Chrissy pays $25 for both, but she has been doing this for ten years, and so he discounts it down to bare bones for her as a professional courtesy, or whatever.  She said that for me to get that rate, she would have to be present with me, since he does it only for people who are actually in business as cat rescuers.  His $39 rate is a courtesy rate for any Good Samaritan off the street who brings in strays.  But I do not care--$39 is fine with me; her vet deserves *some* kind of profit.

So I bought a tin of catnip (for the traps) at Chrissy’s suggestion and left with Meg.  I would have gone back to check the trap, but I was across town and felt as if I were trying to make a watched pot boil, so I did not.  

Meg had to buy a present for a friend from her old program who is also now a co-worker.  This lady is unbelievable; she managed to acquire a terminal degree in a highly work-intensive field, secure permanent employment, *and* still participate in an academic sense (with her old advisor) as well as participate at her place of employment, all whilst stoned as fuck.  It is really an amazing thing to behold, and I do not know how she manages it.  I would love to live my life stoned as fuck.  But were I to, I would end up dropping out and going off to Australia, or maybe Goa to live and spend the rest of my days pondering why on earth Ollie Wisdom thinks he looks better in neon than fake eyelashes.

Butsoanyway.

So Meg is stuck as to what to get ol’ Stoned as Fuck, because she is not in need of anything, really.  I suggested we try a smoke shop.  Meg vetoed that, so I dragged her to another mall where I took her to a novelty store.  I found a statue of Jesus that was called “ask jesus”, or something, and promised to be able to advise on what Jesus would do.  In its bottom was a Magic 8-Ball type display.  

Giggle.

Seeing as how SaF is both from Israel and possessing of a wicked, perverse, and kitschy sense of humour, I told Meg that I thought that would go over *really* well.  Meg was not sure, but I told her to get it; I would bet my life that SaF will *LOVE* it—it is totally her type of joke, and I would bet Squooshable that she will have it on her coffee table and force all of her guests to “ask Jesus”.  Mark my words.

So then Meg and I walked the length of the damn mall twice picking up knick-knacks.  I have to make a list or something to make sure that I am getting everyone, since every time I turn around I think of someone else, and it is always the small ones that I forget—the token type of presents for people who are either giving you something, or to whom you *should* give something because of everything they have done for you.  That sort of thing.  

Finally, I needed a break.  I made Meg go with me to a salon in the mall to get a pedicure.  Yes, I am a junkie.  But really, if I want to do something nice for me, I can either do it myself, or go get a pedicure.  :-)  It is because I am weird.  Meg would have been more enthused about a massage (which she suggested), but I am just weird about being touched anymore; I cannot relax and enjoy it—not that I would ever explain that to her.  First off, I am touch-deprived and so I am way too invested in the interaction.  Not necessarily in a sexual way, but definitely in an emotional way.  Second, I feel as if I should be doing something.  Third, I do not like having people I do not know behind me where I can’t see them.  They may be horribly bored or something, or about to go all Sweeny Todd on my ass.  One never knows about things like that.  But more than anything else I feel lazy, or as if I should be doing something.  Perhaps if I ever find a place that does not stick strangers behind you, and will let clients reciprocate for fifteen minutes after five minutes have passed.  Possibly then.  :-)  It took me long enough to work up to pedicures, and even longer to work up to enjoying them.  

So I’m mental…what of it?  

Plus, my feet hurt from walking in shoes ill-suited for what I had done today as well as my back from carrying everything instead of walking out to my car and putting it up, and the salon has massage chairs *and* hot water.  So, I argued, my way is Best.  :-)

Meg gave in, and it was actually *wonderful*.  Especially since they had to separate us since they were packed.  :-)  On my way to the station, I grabbed a copy of a magazine off the waiting area’s table just because it was a new name (Instinct) with which I was unfamiliar, and after I was seated I realised that it was a gay men’s magazine, but it ended up being fucking hilarious!  I may even subscribe—their review of Carson Kressley’s book alone would be worth the price of subscription, and it was only a paragraph.  :-)  I had not read any of the front-page blurbs or anything, and by the time I was baking under the light, I was so enrapt that I did not notice Meg walking up, staring at me.  The first words out of her mouth were, “’Codia, why in the hell are you reading a gay men’s magazine?”  How in the hell did she know?  Whatever.  I flipped a few pages back to the review of Carson’s book, and showed her.  Hee.

So then we parted ways, ‘cos she wanted to get home, and I needed to check the trap.  I drove (quickly, because I was much alter than I had wanted to be) back to Eviljob and…

Ready?

I CAUGHT THE LAST KITTEN!!!!  

Yes—Mr Grey Tuxedo was in my trap!  Yesterday Son-Friend had said that his Dr Vet said not to incur emergency vet charges (S-F told him I thought one of them was breathing a little fast) unless the kitten was actually panting—which it wasn’t.  S-F’s Dr Vet said that as long as the kitten was responsive and not obviously distressed, dehydrated, or breathing open-mouthed, to wait.  Now, Chrissy’s 24-hr vet does not charge emergency fees (they do all of their surgeries at night), but S-F’s Dr Vet is already giving me a break on the bill for the kittens.  And Grey Tux seemed to be okay.  Freaked out, but not panting or appearing to be in pain or sniffly-nosed, or anything.  So I took it up to Son-Friend, so that it could be with its brother and sister, and Son-Friend will take it to his Dr Vet tomorrow morning.  He said that the Tuxes recognised each other immediately, and Grey Tux drank a huge amount of water, ate, and went immediately to sleep in a pile with its siblings.  :-)  

Yay.  I cannot say it enough.  

So I will hopefully get Momcat tomorrow (and I will take her to Chrissy’s vet to be spayed right away…for all I know, that little hooker is already pregnant again).  :-)  And Momcat will go immediately to Chrissy to be put in a foster home for taming (hopefully).  I told Chrissy that if taming her doesn’t work, I will collect her and put her back out in the parking lot.  Not the best life in the world, but…at least it is better than what she has now, what with having to have litter after litter and watch all of her babies struggle.  But I hope the taming works.  

And then I finally came home to help ‘Pants.  

Sometimes I get very nice emails (thankfully none yet that are not-so-nice!), and tonight I opened my email and had a very nice one from the Director of the Dixie Square documentary.  :-)  And they have a calendar!  I am *so* there…

After I get some sleep, that is.  I am *exhausted*.

G’night.