My cat requires the falconer gloves.
2003-08-29
3:58 p.m.

My shirt has a small pocket on the sleeve. Why? I have no idea. Unless I have kids, then somehow accidentally shrink them, then find them in the backyard and need to transport them indoors and my hands are otherwise occupied, this pocket will do nothing but look dumb. And yet I wear this shirt all the freaking time.

Sometimes I regret keeping this journal because it just gives a window into how completely inarticulate and asnine I am.

Anyway.

My cat. He is better. We went to the vet last night. He hates the vet. They had to whip out the falconer gloves for his angry ass. There was much rage, and there was howling, and oh my god the hissing and the bite attempts. My kitty, transformed! Except not from a car to a robot (or, in Big, from a building to a robot (what's fun about a building?)) but from a docile snorffler of armpits while armpit owner is sleeping to Angry Vet Destoyer.

Anyway, he got some shots of the antibiotic since I couldn't get him to take the pills by myself. He did not like the shot. He became The Hulk and destroyed the vet's office. Except not really.

This morning, I gave him a syringe full of liquid form meds in the mouth. He somehow rejected 50% of it in a room coating spray (yay formal dining room!) and then hauled ass upstairs. Haa. The indignities this cat has faced in the last 24 hours. I'm so sorry that I've had to torture him, but it is for his own good, so he can regain his urinary health.

I've spent $350 on him in the last 2 days. Ha. Hahaha. Ha. Ah.

Okay then.

Work is nuts. Not being here yesterday was Bad Idea #1. I have been rocking work's body all day today, and I will most likely also rock it tomorrow as well. Or perhaps I will do so on Labor Day.

Off topic, why does it take so freaking long to format a CD? I shake my fist at the formatting sky.

Work more now. Work like horse with blinders on, plodding ahead. DON'T LOOK TO THE SIDES. What?