2014-09-07 - 2:08 a.m.
I've had two very fancy wines this week. Basically I am now ruined. I don't care to have any other wine now, unless it is fancy. The Chateau d'Yquem I had on Monday was ethereal. I don't think I've ever savored something as much as I savored every sip of that beauty.
In other, less fancy news. My cat, P-Diddy, is in the midst of her annual constipation episode. Last Friday I came home from work to find that someone had peed on my pillow. Now, I have a lot of cats and they do nasty things from time to time (or every day) but they NEVER EVER EVER pee on furniture or beds. So I was REALLY worried about this. I had no idea who did it or why. So Saturday night at around 4 in the morning I woke up because I suddenly smelled pee and there was PD, peeing next to my head on the pillow. Jesus. Anyway, I suddenly remembered that she did this last year too, not peeing on the bed but peeing in weird spots. And when I brought her to the vet last year we found that she was terribly constipated. So. It was a holiday weekend and I knew what to do. I gave her stool softener and put her in the spare bedroom where she could be alone and quiet. She didn't poop. So on Tuesday she went in for an enema. Still no poop. So she had another enema. Still no poop. So they sent her home. Still no poop. I called in sick on Wednesday (well, I didn't actually call in, I found someone to work for me) because I was not feeling great. I had to get up early to take Beaker back to the ophthalmologist in Lansing and I was (AM) really stressed about him AND I had cramps AND I hadn't slept well for a while AND I had a pimple ON MY NECK and I fell on Sunday and my shoulder was killing me (these god damn floors in our house...)...so yeah, I called in. And waited for poop. But there was just a little marble sized nugget. FINALLY on Thursday she had a gigantic poop. And she slept for the rest of the day.
Beaker. Oh my. I don't know what to do. All the vets (he's seen five different vets now) keep seeming unconcerned and saying he's fine. But he's not. He's not. He's not. I don't know how many times I have to say, "he's not at all himself" before someone will really listen to me. Something is wrong. I'm having his records from the emergency vet, the ophthalmologist and from my regular vet sent to yet another vet on Monday. I refuse to accept this. Something is really wrong with him and I really, really miss my little cat.
Oscar. I know I said I found a little peace about the fact that he is not long for this earth. But I lied. I have no peace. I've had him for nineteen and a half years. I've probably been away from him for six months total in all those years. Which means that I've spent nineteen years sleeping next to this cat. What am I going to do?
Work is fine. That evil asshole finally retired and I am so happy. My bosses toast to her was just about the best thing ever. (my boss is not a fan of her either and we had a secret celebratory toast to her departure in the office while nobody was looking) She said, "here's to the biggest, baddest bitch in the place!" The people who liked this evil asshole (they were all the group that came from the old restaurant...long story) took it as a positive toast and those of us who were so happy to have her get the hell out of there took it the way we wanted to. It was perfect. I do wish her well and I sure hope she enjoys her retirement. And I am so glad to be rid of her and her nastiness. She was just plain nasty. We have yelp reviews that talk about her rolling her eyes at customers.
So that is basically all.
It's been hot but now it's lovely.|
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