Monday, August 29, 2005

Someone has a case of the Monday's

Things are holding steady, internet. Thank you for the vibes, they seem to be working. Boo is now the golden-plated kitty with the mystery disease and still with the cloudy eyes. She spent the day with the animal ophthamologist (I know! Who knew?) on Friday and after they squeezed her eyeballs and put instruments up her ass, a diagnosis is nowhere to be found. However, yesterday I did come across the 2005 calendar I got from the Zoological society, after looking for it the last 9 months, so that's something.

The possibilities of FIP or lymphoma are still on the table, as-well-as the incredibly frustrating accompanied-by-a-nonchalant-shrug "we might never figure out what it was". The latter being my first choice, of course, but would make the money I've spent a little more painful. An amount much closer to a grand than not. Money that I believe I'm obligated to spend since I made the choice to adopt 2 animals that are dependent on me for everything and it's my responsibility to keep and make them healthy, but is not easy to shell out at a certain point. Especially when I'm making payment arrangements for my own medical bills. Gah.

The medication routine is brutal, neigh, BROO-TAL, with much screaming and squirming and hate. Oral antibiotics twice a day causing choking, coughing and hate. Steroid eye drops in both eyes three times a day causing shrieking and clawing and hate. Did you know cats can make over 600 different vocalizations? At least 3 of those sound like a sack of parrots being stuffed through a coffee grinder with the Exorcist playing through a loudspeaker in the background. Just try and put drops in your cats eyes. You'll know exactly what I'm talking about.

And the whole neck-scruffing thing? Yea, that's not working. Thanks a lot over-chatty eye clinic chick. It does not calm my cat down. It does not make it easier. It Pisses. Her. Off. With hate.

Boo is obviously feeling better, finally, and slowly getting back to her normal moody and temperamental self. Something that I'm so relieved to see. Even if she does sometimes look at me like I smell of blue cheese left out in the sun next to a corpse. It's better than her being a little pile of sick looking miserable and forlorn and scaring her mama.

She even brought us a "fresh kill" last night. Wailing into the bedroom about her triumph. This little show involves her walking down the hallway with one of her toys while bellowing through her full mouth saying something that I'm sure means "I've kiiiiiiiiilllllled it for yoooooooooouuuuuuuuu".

I then give much praise and attention to the big brave killing beast and invite her to please, please come join me on the bed so I may give you a proper belly rub and even more love and admiration where she will undoubtedly drop the simulated dead thing and once again look at me like I'm made of a steaming dog shit with an IQ to match.

These are all very good signs in my book, since they're all things she hasn't done in almost 2 weeks. And there is still an above-average amount of lap sitting and purring. I'll take advantage of that while I can. Even to merely assuage my guilt for the eye drop agony.

Hopefully this will all turn out to be nothing more than a short, expensive scare and I'll have Boo around for many years to come for mutual torture and affection. Hope hope hope.

All that being said, I'm feeling decidedly empty lately. I'm not sure what internal/external forces are causing this. OK, well, that's not entirely true. I'm aware of several good reasons for this stinky melancholy I can't shake off. For several personal reasons, I quit taking my anti-depressants. That's been difficult. Not as bad as I thought it would be, but I can feel it contributing to this turdville and I'm back to tearing up while watching bad reality TV. Damn that Super Nanny.

Money is a huge issue. There's not enough of it, I'm not making an amount to sustain living in Southern California and very soon I'll have almost none. That freaks my shit out in a way I can't let get out of control lest we self-destruct or move back in with our parents. Perish that thought.

Also, I'm overwhelmed with a capital FUCK ME with responsibilities that continue to grow. No amount of organizing attempts are helping. It just get worse. I'm stuck in a time-warp of decisions. Stagnant like a pond full of dead tadpoles. Trudging through life on exist mode is not working for me. But I don't know how to get out of this quicksand. I need a friggen Oprah moment. WHERE IS MY OPRAH MOMENT?

I wonder if you can get high off of kitty antibiotics?

One small gem of happy, I am going to San Francisco this weekend to spend 2.3 days with my best friend Matt in the gayborhood. We've scheduled a spa day and have tickets to go see Wicked. I'm so looking forward to it. You can't imagine. Maybe a couple days by the bay will re-charge me a little. Either that or I'm gonna be drunk until New Year's.

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