A couple of smaller problems, anyway.
I’ve got two glasses stuck together. One is a small, square glass. It’s trapped inside a larger mug. I found them in the cabinet this way, and they are very much in love and don’t want to be separated.
I tried running them under hot water, submerging them in cold water, gently rapping it against a hard object, and wiggling them back and forth. I also froze them, shook them, and talked gently to them. Last night Dan suggested I bury them in a Pet Cemetary, and I wondered if I was going to have to choose one of them to smash and one of them to keep. Or should they just stay together forever because it’s the only way I’ll keep from slicing one or both of my hands open?
Problem number two is a bigger problem.
Taylor hurt his leg late last year. He must have smacked one of us too harshly and pulled a ligament in his front right leg. That’s what the vet said, anyway. At the time, he suggested two options: putting Taylor in a cast for six weeks, which would probably make him angry, or putting Taylor on cage rest for six weeks, which would make him furious. Since Taylor spends 89% of his day sitting absolutely still, I asked if we could let it heal naturally. The doc said that sounded like a fine idea, as long as Taylor took it easy. He also said that it would probably never heal all the way, and that Taylor would probably always walk with a little bit of a limp.
Considering he’s a thirteen-year old, French-Canadian bruiser and ex-goalie, it seemed to fit his persona.
The leg was healing and he was getting around better, jumping up onto the bed and the chair with ease. It must have healed so much, in fact, that this week he celebrated by smacking the crap out of Cal, causing him to re-injure his leg.
Now he’s limping much worse than he was before, and today, for the first time, I heard him whimpering, holding his leg up, having just jumped down from the chair. Like a stubborn old man, he refuses to curb his jumping and smacking, and he keeps sitting there licking his leg (he’s worn a sore into it twice), looking all pouty. And, since he can’t run around like he usually does, he’s gotten ridiculously fat in the past two months. He sits like a bean bag.
I’ve scheduled an appointment with the vet for tomorrow morning, but the vet always acts like veterinary medicine is a giant guessing game, and basically asks me what I want to do with the injured or ill animal. I know it’s going to be the same thing again: cast or cage. I’m leaning towards nothing and pain meds, and there’s no way I’m ever putting Taylor in a cage (And you suck it, Ray Prewitt. I know how happy you’d be if Taylor actually became the official “Cat in a Cage.”) But is a cast something that a cat can handle? And I’m not making him wear one of those humiliating funnel heads.
Taylor is a grumpy, pissed-off, snitty cat who showers me with love and affection for about three minutes of every day. The rest of that time he’d like to eat or sleep and he’d really like for you to leave him alone. Is a cast going to drive him into a depression from which he’ll never recover? Keep in mind that this is a cat who’s got OCD to the point where wind makes him chew a sore in his leg.
… aw, man.
I’m a crazy lady.
I’m a crazy cat lady asking strangers to help her with her stuck dishes. And today I made cookies but there’s nobody here to eat them.
DO YOU KNOW WHICH BUS GETS ME TO THE EYE DOCTOR? You look like such a nice, young man. Have you seen my socks? I just put them down for a second and now… Hey! Was that Milton Bearle on that motorcycle? He didn’t have to be such an asshole.
My cat’s got a limp and I can’t get my glasses unstuck. Want a cookie?