Oh, noooooo!

I have to miss playing QB1 for this Superbowl for the first time in...EVER!  I mean, we are talking *years*!  I am *so* upset!

Oh, there is no Justice...

do not try this at home, or, why dumb things happen to smart people.

Just call me Rescue Annie-codia, l'inconnue du blog. And for what it
is worth, we shall shortly see that I am clearly NOT okay.

Christ.

We were bored tonight at Eviljob, so we started talking about kinky
sex, which somehow morphed into the best combat wrestling techniques,
which further morphed into a discussion on rescue (lifting/carrying
dead weight was the segue there), which ended with my knocking the
wind out of myself by hitting a tich too hard whilst demonstrating how
easy a precordial thump is to perform...on myself. The conversation
died out at that point, largely because everyone was preoccupied with
asking me if I was sure that I was ok.

ZOMG, my chest hurts. The take-away message here is that this was a
really, really stupid thing to do. Not too bright too much is this
writer. No, not at all. Plus, the sex talk was way more informative;
next time, my contribution will be limited to Intro to Conversational
Polari for Straight Businessmen, or any low-contact sport. Fuck.

they make no mention of the beauty of decay

mary katherine (my team, job 2.5) is in the hospital, and we -- my
other teammates are having a conniption fit; we are worried over her,
and we have a looming deadline that is, frankly, starting to freak us
the fuck out.

great googly-moogly, i believe i might be having a nervous breakdown.

it is a shame, too; i was such a nice girl.

Things are going...drowningly.

I am trying to get through what is essentially a special interest group development at Job 2.  At the end of it, if all goes well, things are good.  If all goes badly, well...then it will suck, seriously and severely, to be me.  Sigh.  I would love to describe around the issue, but the truth of the matter is that I haven't the time, and will not for another month-ish.  We are meeting, it seems, constantly.  Right at the moment, we're taking a break (notice, please, that this is SUNDAY EVENING), then it is back to work.  :-\  I have had to completely farm out my cat maintenance at Eviljob, as I barely have time to take care of my own right now.

This too shall pass. 

...and then I will need to be held.  

You're sooo...perceptival!

Yes, it is true.

I am in agony.

Yes, it is true.

I cannot talk about it, at least not until it is over. Just bear with me as I am shallow and petty.

I am sorry; now back to your regularly scheduled blog...

Let Sammy in, you bastards!

Watch more USA TODAY videos on AOL Video

A Really Incomplete Education

Okay...I had to change quite a bit, but...this really had me laughing; one of Meg's co-worker Sabra's graduate students forwarded this to Sabra, who in turn passed it on to me (among others).  I had to work hard to keep all the original typos and stuff in it.  Hee.  And no, of course Professor R did not send this to the student.

Dear Student,

While I appreciate your blatant incoherence for its entertainment value, I do have one concern regarding your academic situation:  Are you simultaneously enrolled in prep English I?  If not, may I recommend an instructor?

Yours in amazement,
Professor Radebaugh

p.s.: I do have a tomato stain on a white long sleeved dress shirt, but I do not know if you consider that to be a “problem.” Please advise. 

>>> “Douglas Radebaugh” Radebaud@xxx.edu

Names and email addresses have been erased to protect the identity of this poor soul.

 _____

Hello Professor Ray,

I am notify you on my unappearance in your first week of beginning alegebra 12:00 p.m-2:15 p.m. MW classes for mth002. I had to sign up on your class before all other classes were taken before. I was unable to make it because of housisng situations. I wanted to notify you that I will be appearing here on out to your class startin next class appearance.Is there any assignmets that I may have not have gotton due to my absence would you please let me know? If you could you please reply back at me about any concerns or the problems that you might have.

thank you.

Student.

An Incomplete Education

Took Squoosh to the vet (see mes tweets); took him home, and went to dose him this morning, and heavens to mike did my baby stink!  This *hideous* smell that was close to what I would imagine rotting maple syrup (I know, but work with me here) being poured over a pile of burning tires would smell like.  Naturally, I start freaking and worrying that Squoosh has an abscess from the injection last night, or has developed diabetes, or his bowels are rotting out, so I phone the vet with Squooshable in my arms, looking up at me, purring and smelling.  The tech that came on the line laughed at my maple syrup and tires description and told me that it was probably Squoosh's 'anal glands'.  Huh? After I told her that I do not think Squooshable has 'anal glands' (???), and kept mentioning things I thought it could be, she finally told me to bring him in for a sniff.  

I packed him (protestingly) into the carrier and over to the vet's where *two* techs came out to sniff him, 'cos the one tech that had been on the phone with me said (really politely) that she had a feeling that I would want a confirming opinion.  I really like Dr S's staff.  So I pulled him out and they could not smell it at first, and then when I showed them the spot it seemed to me to be coming from (on his left haunch), both of them came closer and then smelled it and 100% assured me that it was 'his anals', and that he looks fine and his anals look fine, and he probably accidentally got his fur in it in the litterbox, or spooged it out last night when he got stressed over the vet visit.  

Well, okay then.  

So I googled it on the way home, and guess what?  Squoosh has anal glands .  And not only does Squooshable have anal glands, but *all* cats have them, and god damn do they smell.  Normally the anal gland stuff comes out when they poop.  Who knew?

I know you knew.  Shut up.  How in the hell was I supposed to know that??

But now I know what it is when I see other people's dogs scooting their butts across the floor and stuff -- their anal glands are infected and they need to go to a vet.  The article I found says that cats scoot like that too, though I do not think that I have ever seen that.  If Squoosh scoots, he's going to the vet ASAP, but he is on Clavamox for the respiratory infection already, and he seems fine.  

Sigh.  

Relatedly, I also found this article about anal glands from the ADM and damn near died laughing:  Senile Human Bitch Allows Cat's Anal Glands to Swell and Fester .

Butsoanyway. 

I am extremely unhappy...much, much, much to be done in only about a month and a half.  Polkaroo...polkaroo...polkaroo...

omfg.

Mental Weather Forecast

...look for my being exceptionally petty, distant, self-absorbed,
small-minded, and sporadically posting until probably about April-ish.
Big things are now afoot. Whee.

On a brighter note, if I make it through this, I can make it through
anything. :-)

...well, make it through without huddling in a corner mumbling
'Polkaroo' over and over with my thumb in my mouth, that is. :-D

What I get for being honest

...so I get home, and I have an email from an old high school (former) friend, who is a current acquaintance, if for no other reason than we have simply not seen each other in so long. Anyway, so this email is entitled, 'CHECK THIS OUT!', and includes a link...to what is apparently the website of yet another of our friends (the link being www.suzettebananasfoster.com, I quickly picked up that it was the website of our friend, Suzette Bananas-Foster; I am mentally swift like that).

And no, SB-F is not her real name, of course.  

Butsoanyway.

So I check out Suzette's website, and...it surely is her.  Or 'is she', I think.  She does appear to be a tad worse-for-wear, but she was a few years older than myself and others, too.  Anyhow, she has her hair dyed (good dye job -- it looks natural), and is looking all sunlight-y and breezy here on this...::gulp::...spiritual guidance site for motivated individuals and executives (that is a modified quote).  Good lord, Suzette Bananas-Foster is a spiritual-guide-y type, and is thanking Jeezy Creezy and angels and shit for choosing her to deliver their message, 'cos it's brought her several years' worth of 200k-plus income, and sent to her the lurve of her life, with whom she resides in this huge home...when she isn't holding rah-rah-lizardshit spiritbuilding conferences in Hawaii, Jamaica, Caifornia, and other places.  

I couldn't help it -- I phoned my friend (and really enraged her husband, whom I abhor), so she got back on IM with me for a round of 'this has to be a joke', 'no fucking way', and so forth, until my friend pointed me in the direction of Amazon, where Suzette has books, DVDs, and so on.  She has them on sale on her site, sure, but the whole site could be some fucked-up joke...I mean, *I* would pull a stunt like that just to screw with people if I had a ton of free time.  But no...the books are all real.  They have *reviews*.  By, like fifty people plus, who all think Suzette is the bees' knees and cannot wait to go back to another one of her retreats.    

Oh. My. God.

That DOES it.  That TOTALLY DOES IT!  Because...thing is, you'd have to know Suzette -- I mean *really* know her, as we do -- to grok this, but...

Heavens, it pains me to say this, but...

SHE'S FULL OF IT.  Angels, my ass.  There is NO WAY IN HELL she believes this shite, not any more than I would...which leads me to my point.  

Fuck this crap.  I mean seriously, fuck it.  I can spin this god nonsense better than the best of 'em (you should see what whacked-out branches I have on my fambly tree), but...what has being honest brought me?  If my current endeavours do not work miracles, I am writing a fakakteh god book and making some serious damn money.  I will write a self-help book and throw a a ton of Jeezy Creezy in there, and see if I don't.  

Bwahahaha...it would be really funny to totally plagiarise the stew out of Ragnar Redbeard and just make it all legitty RHP xtian. I wonder if there are any other sceptics like myself who do horrible, terrible things just because they are tired of killing themselves promoting reason and science and just want easy money?

Well, besides Suzette, I mean.  She was with me when we were all little druggie witchy small-peoples, and she was faking, and I was faking, and none of us believed any of it...at *all*, we just wanted attention.  Rilly -- like most 14 - 18 year olds.  But, unless a brick fell on her head, methinks she heard the call of the wild...loonie.  I believe *none* of this, and neither does the friend who emailed it to me after someone else who didn't believe it emailed it to *them*.  

Christ.  I need a drink.  Seriously -- I do not drink that much normally, but...I am going to have a glass of wine and calm the hell down.  

I totally could buy SOOOOO many cat beds for Squooshable!

I could even marry some thimble-brained xtian man and tell him that the angels said that *he* has to do all the cooking and cleaning.  No, srsly...it came to me in a dream, babe.  

Snort.

Ok...now for that glass of wine...

Bwahahaha!

I love the pic below!  Everything is...special.  Hold me, please!  I have to get into a cat fight at Eviljob -- it's an Us versus Them thingy, where one group is trying to commandeer a project, and our group is trying to *not* let them do that.  

Then, I am currently trying to do a six-person research project ALL BY MY FUCKING SELF.  Yes, that would be Job 2.5.  Kill me now.  

Job 2 I am behind on prepping for, but...it will all work out.  I hope.  Sheesh.

Job 2.5.1, however is FUBAR; Job 2.5.1, which was originally Job 2, then became Job 2.5 and then changed to Job 2.5.1 is...craziness.  I cannot even *explain* it.  I have to really explain this later, when I am not exhaused.  Basically, I have fucked up because I spent abouuuuut...ummm...two and a half (?) of the past years being dazzled by money, and am trying to fix it.  It is hard to know precisely how long, and -- again -- I will explain better later, 'cos I am going to need a lot of positive energy (Milli Vanilli-style, ha!) and stuff over the next few months as I fix this and begin hiking forward towards my density...errr...destiny.  

Heavens, I crack myself up.  

Ok...I have also been transcending stressed because -- in addition to everything else, I *just* found out (I started finding out on 15 December, when I got some f'ed up insurance card in the mail) that when I came back from leave from my surgery in August, Eviljob's jackass fucktard leave administration company SWITCHED MY INSURANCE over a month after I returned.  That's right -- I was essentially barebacking for three months because none of my physicians take the insurance offered by the Eviljob Plan Q (through like, Crazy Eddie's House of Insurance...only $50 a paycheck, and their prices are in-say-ay-ay-ayne!) that the leave administrator company dumped me into.  That's why I pay through the nose for Eviljob Plan A, which is through United Health, which everyone takes because UHC rocks.  Every year, during open enrolment I pick the same thing because I *like* my PPO, or POS, or whatever it is through UHC.  I get *everything* paid for (including the Gardasil vaccine, and jes --I am over 25, or 23, or whatever the ludicrous 'off-label' age starts at...UHC, you *rock*!), I do not have to ever have anything ok'd through a PCP, or get referrals, or whatever (even though I love my GP, having to go to him for everything is retarded; what do people do...go to their GP to get a referral for a PAP smear?  ...barbecue?).

Butsoanyway.

So, in sum, they changed my insurance, and I did not know.  Then I found out and freaked the hell out, *then* I started getting bills.  At first I emailed our Human Resources staff, then I started pulling out old emails I have archived with contacts at our leave administrator's company and started cc'ing everyone.  Well, I just found out today that finally they fixed it -- I can ask all my doctors to re-file.  Jesus.  

I am going to have to finish this later, 'cos I am totally crashing, I am so tired.  



see Sarah Palin pictures

more fun than a barrel of lolcats

i submitted a ton of paperwork today, some of which was an
attitude-adjustment request for a team leader at eviljob; she's
apparently been bad-mouthing my special-project work group, telling
people that we are stealing her ideas, specifically for this new
division whose starting metrics i cranked out BY MYSELF on a lonely
caturday, so i am taking no small amount of personal offence here.

sigh...gtg...helping betty shop on ebay; she had horrors happen at
work and needs me (she was on a dilaudid run and her cna stuck herself
when a pt fell and a line came loose. pt has aids and hep c; this
means six months on pins and needles for the cna (seroconversion takes
its own sweet god-damned time), and it could have been betty by
literally minutes). we're starting up quite the little toy camera
klatch here, and god only knows you need a russian to tell you to also
search for 'cmeha' to get good deals from peeps who are cleaning out
dead grandpa's attic and do not know what they have.

i know...i am teh brillinz wizzerdezz. ;-)

i love you, betty...love you, love you, love you. i keep it here cos
she wants to talk about other stuff. cannot blame her.

Not very cool sounding. Not at all.

I took the "The Animal Spirit" quiz on gURL.com
		My animal spirit is... The Mongoose The mongoose is the only animal that would risk life and limb for a loved one. The mongoose also uses its speed to escape danger when it finds itself in a tight spot. According to shamanistic wisdom, mongoose people value relationships over everything and are the most loyal of friends. Read more... What is your animal spirit?

Sunday, you say?

Sunday is *not* a day of rest here at the International House of
Ancodia! Ohellno. Today I *tried* to finish all this stuff for this
semester's classes (and failed), tried to clean my bathroom (epic
fail), got all my pillows washed (score), and got the three babies
vaccinated (1/3 fail). Weebie does not need vaccination until August.

I went to my old standby, Dr Superhero -- the one Chrissy introduced
me to so I could get a Rescue Group discount from him when I first
started TNR-ing the cats at Eviljob, the one who would have trusted me
enough to give me that-which-shall-not-be-named (I have since been
advised, threatened really, to not EVER speak about this offer to
ANYONE by another rescue lady here, so I will not; there are a lot of
wagons ready to rally around Dr S, and I would like to believe I am
one of them) to tranq Mehitabel with if I could have gotten my hands
on a housecat tranquiliser gun, the one who *did* give me pre-surgical
anaesthesia drugs, ACE-something and Valium to try to knock her out
(Mehitabel was woozy, but still evaded my net. True to my word though,
I stayed with her -- trying to catch her -- for a little over six
hours until the drugs wore off), the one who is open twenty-four hours
(mostly) and who took my freshly-trapped ferals for rapidspeuter
service at a discount (thanks to Chrissy...ilu, Chrissy) and gave them
all vaccinations on the cheap as well. I made an emergency appointment
for Saturday evening (Dr S's shift; he runs and owns the place, but is
of course not doing this alone -- he is a super*hero*, not
super*human*) because I thought Squoosh might have a respiratory
infection, then I decided to save myself the $85 emergency fee and
make a regular appointment on Sunday night, 'cos Squoosh was not
sneezing, coughing, or anythinging, I just thought his purr sounded
deeper than normal.

stfu. I am *not* batshit.

I was worried because I did not vaccinate the three in 2008 because I
was busy, forgot, whatever. Okay, I SUCK, and I am a BAD KITTY MOMMY.
There. Happy? But they are indoor-only cats who NEVER come even close
to getting out-of-doors (I close off my foyer, largely for privacy
reasons because otherwise any random salesperson or Jehovah's Witness
can see all the way into my family room, most of my living room, and
some of my kitchen, none of which is their business, and so the cats
cannot even get near the door), and I am always so super-careful with
them that Meg tells me I am batshit on a regular basis. Plus, I have
been told by more than one vet that cats do not *have* to be
vaccinated every twelve months, that you can go a little over, kind of
like how you do not have to change the oil in your car every three
thousand miles. But missing 2008, I was a little worried in case
Squoosh did have an infection, cos there is all kinds of stuff out
there, and with my luck, it is some especially virulent Calicivirus,
and is about to kill him. So I decided to get them vaccinated and
checked out tonight (Sunday), also on Dr Superhero's shift.

Squoosh is fine. He has no *anything*, not even fungus (he enjoyed the
sweep with the black light, though), so he and Rhett were vaccinated
for everything from soup to nuts, including the droppy-stuff in the
nose, some of which he snorked into his eye and loudly declared,
'BABY, THIS BULLSHIT!'...then calmed right down as if nothing had ever
happened. We are such a cute baby!

Cookie, however, turned out to be running a fever of 104; Dr Superhero
said no vaccinations for her today. Then I noticed she was doing that
upset-stomach lip licking thing (back when I was going to Dr Vet, they
diagnosed her as having a sensitive stomach after she ate some seafood
I brought home and puked for a week and came down with pancreatitis,
and a week of Tagamet and antibiotics fixed her), so Dr S put her on
Clindamycin, gave her a 100 (ml or cc, or are those the ones that are
the same?) bolus of water to break her fever, a shot of tagamet, and a
shot of clindamycin, baytril, B-12, and vitamin C. But she did get a
just-in-case de-worming (my babies do NOT have worms, I just believe
in being better safe than sorry) as did Rhett and Squoosh. Then I give
her Clindamycin 2x/dy for tomorrow, half a Tagamet once, and bring her
back Tuesday to see if the fever has gone down; if so, she can be
vaccinated. And Squoosh and Rhett also each had shots of the mix of
Clindamycin, Baytril, B-12, and C, just in case. Dr S said that
usually works really well, and otherwise our alternative is to run a
pack of fishing-expedition tests on Cookie to see what comes up, and
in the end it may just be pancreatitis again from her having sneaked
people food when I wasn't looking, in which case we would do exactly
what we are doing now, or something more serious might turn up on a
test (he mentioned like FIP, though I doubt she has FIP only being
unvaccinated about eight months), in which case she will still be sick
come Tuesday, and I need to really start worrying, because Squoosh,
Rhett, and possibly Weebie may have it. Sigh.

Now on the 'up' side, Dr S figures that probably Cookie is fine; he
said she's clearly alert and responsive (I'd not noticed *anything*
wrong with her at all!), not sore in the tum, not vomiting, no
diarrhoea, she is eating and drinking well, and might just have a cut
or fanging somewhere (from tussling with Rhett or Squoosh) we cannot
see that has become infected, or the beginnings of a bladder
infection...all of which are treated the same route: shot of
Clindamycin, Baytril, B-12, and C, and water for the fever.

And what a good little Cookie -- she did not have a single attack of
nerves whilst there! Normally she is very skittish away from home or
around strangers -- she will freak out and start trying to kill you
pretty easily if she is spooked; I think it is a hold-over from her
feral kitten days, so I just try to not spook her. For example,
beeping things spook her (why? who knows?), so I try to keep those to
a minimum in my home. I mean, she cannot help it, and the little baby
clearly thinks her life is in danger. I just hope she will some day
realise that she is safe, and vet visits like today really reinforce
my belief that this will one day occur. Yay.

I had to ask Meg to come with me to help manage the cats -- I have
*nightmares* about something horrible happening, like my tripping and
knocking the cat carrier open in the parking lot -- and I tried to
tell her about some of the really cool things Dr S has done, like
leaving for two whole weeks to volunteer helping pets after Katrina,
and all the things he has done for this and that group. Meg was
uninterested, to say the least (being her sister, I can see through
the feigning polite interest schtick), though she did ask me why I did
not go to Dr S, and I explained to her about having heard about one of
his relief vets from Baby Bat -- BB went to her mother's house, and
her mother's 800-year old dog was on the kitchen floor, convulsing. BB
phoned her mother at work to ask what to do (BB is a little too much
of a follower, imho; I can understand my friend asking what to do
about my Harry, but family is different, plus Harry wasn't
convulsing), and her mom told her to bring the dog to their vet -- Dr
S -- and have him put to sleep (the dog was terminally ill, I forget
with what, but he was like, twenty years old, seriously), and that she
was driving right over to Dr S's. Well, Dr S was off then, and BB saw
this guy, we'll call him Dr T, so as to not tax my brain too much.
Baby Bat said that Dr T took an attitude with her from the start, and
refused to euthanise the still-convulsing dog because Dr T had never
seen the dog, only Dr S, which to me sounds ludicrous. Not knowing
what to do, BB said that she started screaming at the top of her lungs
-- just howling; I have seen her fitting like that over other things,
so I have no doubt that she would, and she should be embarrassed over
it, so why volunteer such a humiliating falsehood? -- and then one of
Dr S's vet techs came in with the euthanasia shot and administered it.
BB said this Dr T was in the surgery or kennel area (this place is on
a small farm, and it is HUGE for a vet's office) literally yelling at
the tech to get out of the room, that they were in huge trouble,
fired, and so on; BB said she asked the tech if they were getting in
trouble, and the tech said that they would have Dr S's ok later and
everything would be fine, they did not know why Dr T was doing this,
etc...

Butsoanyway.

So I explained to Meg that when I left Dr Vet's, I had intended to
come here simply out of convenience (it is very close, plus I can make
appointments for nine in the evening on Sundays), plus Dr S loves
animals more than I can explain; I mean, he calls them *people*.
Seriously. But Baby Bat's story scared the shit out of me -- at the
time, Romeo was still alive, and as a result of BB's experience, I
made damn certain that Romeo had all his euthanasia paperwork already
filled out and sitting in his file on his very first visit to the new
vet (after we left Dr Vet's), and that Doc (the new vet) and all his
staff knew that *anyone* bringing Romeo in for euthanisation was ok
with me, just in case someone stopped by and Romeo had crashed -- so,
I explained to Meg, with Romeo still alive, I was worried that I might
have an emergency that could not wait for Dr S to come available, and
what am I supposed to do to be merciful to my cat -- strangle him with
my bare hands?

Yes, I do worry about things like this.

And I do have Dr S's cell number (one holiday season he told me to
phone him if he was not on instead of taking Romeo to the *actual*
emergency vet, because they charge so damned much and getting someone
good is often a crapshoot there, and he knew how much Romeo meant to
me), but he gave it to me for one specific reason, and that was not to
just ring him any old time. It is a really smart move to give a
doctor's child your cell number; after living through all the
cut-short or even solitary birthday parties, abbreviated
Thanksgivings, and Xmas Interruptus, a doctor's kid will phone you
NEVER; off means OFF.

Meg, incidentally, says that I am too neurotic about my cats, and Baby
Bat is a narcissistic, psychopathic drama queen. I am just trying to
give fair voice to opposing sides...although I do agree with her about
Baby Bat. Sad, but true.

Anyway, so when we finally got in, Dr S was running back and forth
like he always does; we were sandwiched in between a dog with a
chronic cough (pulmonary oedema; Lasix, for those keeping score at
home; owner, ironically, was just dx'd with the same thing. Meg
marvelled over how pets mirror their owners, I pointed out that
someone's clearly been sharing table scraps for twelve years with
their twelve-year old dog, and twelve years of eating McDonald's and
beer has packed *everyone's* heart in fluid ...and Meg says *I* am
illogical...hmmph), a guinea pig with a hurt leg (spending the night @
Dr S's tonight, we both laughed over the call over the intercom to
prep an overnight bed in the kennel for a guinea pig; a whole cage? No
one has an empty desk drawer and a shoebox?), and another dog with
what sounded like it was an intestinal problem (too far down the hall,
sorry -- could not hear). As he left each time, he would tell us to
'get the next person out [of the carrier]' and he would be right back.
Meg cracked up over that; she had not believed me, I guess (back when
I was trapping ferals nightly, once I came in with two, and Dr S got a
tech to make room in the kennel area for 'two more people'; I adored
him on the spot). When he came back, we were talking about all kinds
of things, and I could tell that Meg thought he was weird, but she
later asked me if I had dated him or something (erm, no, and do not
dare say that around Chrissy, or she will go crazy) and, considering
that I said no to the first question, if I thought he was trying to
pick me up because he asked me if I were married yet or in a
relationship, to which I reminded Meg that was because we were talking
about how pets round out a person's life, and how Elvis might be alive
today if he had a Siamese cat or two to tell him that he was really
fucking up.

Seriously -- can you imagine the humiliation and extreme reality check
of waking up in a pool of your own grossness to see a Measle staring
at you like, 'Have you no pride, Babe? Eew.'? That would have set
Elvis back on track. Yep, yep.

Butsoanyway.

I fell asleep composing this, and now I have to do that Conquering the
World Thing, and I have to give Cookie her Clindamycin and half a tab
of Tagamet. I have already checked on her (Cookie holds grudges, and
is currently not talking to me; when I found her, she promptly climbed
up high on the cat tree and sat down with her back to me), and her
fever seems to have gone down. Sigh...wish me luck today; this is
going to be a hellish week, and not just because Cookie hates me at
the moment. I was awakened by a text message from a manager at Eviljob
calling out and asking me to do eleventy-billion things for him. Pfft.
And man, am I hungry; I think I forgot to eat yesterday. Argh.