The cat's infected again. We're going another round of "Who makes the other more neurotic?" So far, I think I might be winning, but that's mostly because I ran the vaccuum tonight.
By the way, the pill giving situation is now so minimal that it's not even worth mentioning. I've always maintained that Monster was highly trainable. Now I just have to pretend to pry his mouth open, toss it in there and clamp his mouth closed for a second and the pill is swallowed.
This is a miracle for which I am thankful at least twice everyday.
I'd be more excited if he would stop getting into fights. Clearly, this apartment complex has too many cats and not nearly enough territory. (Plus, my cat is the one who starts the fights. I'm not going to pretend like the creature I affectionately call Monster is anything less.)
So, I've spent two hours cleaning my house, because last night I had company, and oh my goodness was my house disgusting. Those of you who've never seen the way I live are probably thinking that it wasn't THAT bad. Those of you have seen my normal living quarters... um, imagine that I made even less effort at keeping house. It was NASTY.
We're going to call him Verde, because that's what CanadaDave and I just decided. Verde was very nice about pretending that it wasn't actually messy at all. I cannot imagine the level of self control that took.
Seriously? If someone brought me into a house that looked like mine, I wouldn't stay overnight. I might stay an hour if I didn't see any insects.
Plus I opened with "That's Isis-Monster. He bites, but he's up to date with his shots. I wouldn't touch him if I were you." after I finished insisting that I knew how disgusting my house is.
Two hours cleaning. I managed to vaccuum most of the living room. I cleaned up half of the most debris-ridden area of the bedroom. I'm sitting in the middle of what's left of it.
Another point in Verde's favor... he's not the least bit allergic to cats. This is not a house for someone with a cat allergy. And he even managed to look entertained when the cat tried to eat his arm.
The kitchen has moved from "fucking frightening and also why all of the dishes are in other parts of the house?" to "certainly unsanitary, but nothing loading the dishwasher and wiping the countertops with straight chlorine bleach wouldn't fix". I call that progress. Not cleanliness but progress.
In an ideal world, I'll load the dishwasher before I go to bed. Then tomorrow I'll finish operation "setting reasonable goals: rendering the house presentable" after Gilmore Girls and Wednesday after the debate and the post-debate rally down the street, we'll be able to come back to my house and hopefully the shock won't kill him.
(I'll sum up the current state of things with a paraphrase of what I wrote to Pratt this morning... "He likes redheads; I like people who think I'm pretty. Neither of us has friends here, and we both like leaving the house. Everybody wins!" He's a very nice boy, although I'm afraid he might smother me if given the chance. Spoiling and indulging I can deal with but not smothering.)
For all you math geeks out there, how it comes to be that your one vote matters.
About One Year Ago: The nurse looked like some sort of over made-up cadaver come to life. She was so scary. As she was putting the scan up, she looked right at me and said "Sweetie, that last disc is shot."
About Two Years Ago:Things To Do At Work When You Hate Your Job and Are More Or Less Chained to the Phone
