Upon advice of a friend, I’ve decided to grant cat a temporary reprieve from exile.
All the catnip toys have been tossed. Even a little whiff of this stuff is obviously driving my cat insane.
And no more liver in the food, as this apparently makes poo stink horribly.
And we’ll try a different litter and see what happens.
I think I can say conclusively that the cat experiment is an absolute failure. My mental health has been in continuous decline since the cat came in to my life.
I can’t sleep, since the cat keeps crawling on my face to get to the nightstand to either drink out of my water glass or knock everything on the floor. I can’t work because I’m constantly interrupted by the sound of something else crashing to the floor.
This cat is destroying everything. I have to keep everything out of her reach, and she’s finding new and interesting ways to get into my shit.
And the smell. She shits, and the whole house instantly reeks. Even if I clean the shit out of the box immediately and spray the hell out of the place with lysol, it still reeks of shit for an hour. Cat shit is possibly the most foul smelling excretion you will ever experience.
So, either she goes or I go. And since I’m the one paying the mortgage on this place, I’m staying. By the end of the week, she’ll be Someone Else’s Cat.
h/t Limbaugh – from IBD, save the planet by encouraging fewer babies?
Madness!
I hear things like this, and I want to have four or five kids and a 5,000 square foot house just to spite the eco-weenies.
update: And lit entirely with 150W incandescent light bulbs.
Woke up, and of course, no dog.
Looked in the office. Not there.
Not on the couch, or on the bed in the living room.
Still food in the bowl.
Not outside.
Damn. It never occurred to me how much space that dog took up. This place is empty without her.
Crimson - 1997-2009
This morning, Crimson passed beyond the veil. She was a good dog. She was a better dog than I was a man. I already miss her.
Rest in peace, old friend.
I got some kind of wierdness going on with my foot. Bug bite? Sprain? Alien?
Well, I could try to get in to see my doctor, but that’s gonna take a week or three. By then, this alien is going to have burst out of my foot and left me down a leg.
I could go to the ER, but this isn’t really an emergency, it’s gonna cost like sin, and I’m gonna be taking up resources that someone who’s really fucked up should be using.
Enter the walk-in clinic.
Now, my insurance is a high-deductible kind of thing, so this isn’t a co-pay and out thing. I’m paying cash.
$105, I was in and out in 15 minutes. Diagnosis: some kind of infection. What kind? Who cares. Prescription for an antibiotic (picked up for free at Stop & Shop).
Whatever it was, it’s shrunk, it doesn’t hurt that much, and it’s not bright red.
Which means it wasn’t an alien, so I’ve got that going for me.
But here’s what I don’t get – people seem to think that $105 is a ridiculous amount of money to pay a professional for his time. I pay this every year to get my furnace cleaned. Clearly there’s some kind of mental disconnect afflicting people when it comes to paying for medical care.
Apparently when the rapist is sufficiently “artistic”.
Look, if the girl involved had been 18 when Polanski did what he did, it would still be rape.
It’s not like he was falsely accused by a woman he never touched. It’s not like he was railroaded at trial by false testimony.
He drugged a girl. He said “let’s fuck”. She said “no”. He fucked her anyway. He got caught. He admitted to it. He pled guilty. He bolted.
I just don’t see what’s so confusing about this. This is nothing more than a case of “but he’s a tortured soul, let’s have pity on him. Have some compassion.”
And this is precisely what I mean when I say “Compassion is wasted on the weak and unworthy.”
Of course, he also said “everyone wants to fuck young girls” in an interview later on. Whether that’s true or not, here’s the crucial thing Roman: almost nobody else actually goes and fucks young girls, and we punish the ones who do.
The compassionate thing to do is for this dirty old fuck to rot in prison.
Neither do I. It’s quiet. No hum. No background noise.
I used to have to meditate for an hour to get to this state. Now I can sit still, and my brain goes calm.
It’s never done that before.
I have no words. Maybe later.
Speaking of the E, I bought 5 pounds of local honey.
Should be beer in about 8 weeks.
Did the Big E yesterday. I do NOT like it when strangers touch me. And they did way too much of that yesterday.
And that still freaks me out.
Too many people. Too much traffic. Never going on a Saturday again. NEVER.