Life consists of little joys, annoyances, and bunch of other little stuff, and, oh yeah: ignobilities. Let's not forget those. While sitting down to a repast last night of cucumbers and garlic bread, the very first bite of the bread drove a piece of crust into the roof of my mouth. Yeah, I know:
c'mon! And it's still there today, despite my best efforts last night to get it out. I had to put my powder compact in my mouth, which I did manage, just so I could see the fucking thing. This morning it is red, angry and my gag reflex is on active duty. I used to work with this miserable sack of a woman who would constantly bemoan: Oh,
why is this my life? I do not want to become that miserable sack, but
why........?
This morning I got to schlep Dinsdale, Oh Great Hairy One, to the vet. As I have had trouble finding a vet I like nearby, it necessiated a 30 minute drive with a constantly eh-eh-
eheheheh-
eheheheeEHEH!-ing cat next to me. He did me the favor - this one time, Dinsdale, and then it's never a favor again, got it? - of peeing on the kitchen floor in his favorite spot, saving me the cost of the doctors getting it from him.
Turns out, he doesn't show the signs of having a UTI, but they didn't do any bloodwork and I was just relieved to rule out the urinary tract infection and paid my money and ran away. Now, I'm back online reading about the symptoms and the chorus sounds dire. The vet's advice was to get another cat box, so he can have his own (although I totally see Sammy using it) so for now, that's what I'll do and just monitor the little fucker.
Chicken Vickie just lost her lovely cat, Emily (another commission on the horizon:
Dead Cats R Us), to kidney failure, so that was fresh in my mind. Dinsdale's still a pup: I want him to outlive me.
Life consists of little joys, annoyances, and bunch of other little stuff, and, oh yeah: ignobilities. Let's not forget those. While sitting down to a repast last night of cucumbers and garlic bread, the very first bite of the bread drove a piece of crust into the roof of my mouth. Yeah, I know: c'mon! And it's still there today, despite my best efforts last night to get it out. I had to put my powder compact in my mouth, which I did manage, just so I could see the fucking thing. This morning it is red, angry and my gag reflex is on active duty. I used to work with this miserable sack of a woman who would constantly bemoan: Oh, why is this my life? I do not want to become that miserable sack, but why........?
This morning I got to schlep Dinsdale, Oh Great Hairy One, to the vet. As I have had trouble finding a vet I like nearby, it necessiated a 30 minute drive with a constantly eh-eh-eheheheh-eheheheeEHEH!-ing cat next to me. He did me the favor - this one time, Dinsdale, and then it's never a favor again, got it? - of peeing on the kitchen floor in his favorite spot, saving me the cost of the doctors getting it from him. 
Chicken Vickie just lost her lovely cat, Emily (another commission on the horizon: Dead Cats R Us), to kidney failure, so that was fresh in my mind. Dinsdale's still a pup: I want him to outlive me.
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