Okay, so I woke up yesterday and that weird kind of malaise I've been feeling was just...gone. Good riddance, I say. I've got things to do!
My parents are coming on Thursday so I am completely freaking the frak out. Since I can't A) lose 30 pounds or B) finish my book and have it published and appear on Oprah charming the world with my wit and...um...wit (?), I decided to completely gut my office and turn it into my yarn/creative space.
My husband talked me down off of the "Tile An Entire Room Before My Parents Get Here on Thursday" ledge, though. He's very wise. Because somewhere along the line when I was making all of my plans, I forgot that I would still have to, you know, PARENT, not to mention, um, sleep.
(I did manage to sneak in a little bit of tile work, anyway. Want to see? This is the Butler's Pantry, which has had a plywood counter-top for a year-and-a-half-now. (Shaddup.) (It never DID have a Butler.) (I'm going to grout it tomorrow.)
But then, horror of horrors, Edward the Kitty got sick with HIS familiar malaise. The one where he can't go poop and his meow gets all "crooked," as Jane (almost 9) says.
I called to make an appointment for him but I had to wait to make it until my husband could come home and help me get Edward out from under the guest room sofa. Which my husband did, because he's a prince of a guy. We shut Eddy into our bedroom with food and water until time to see the vet.
Ana (11) and I STILL had to get him out from under the bed--that was fun--and then load him into the carrier. Which was equally fun--although those orange tabbies are so nice. He was fighting like a tiger to keep from going into the carrier but he never scratched me, not once.
He did, however, FART at me.
You know how I feel about that word. (Look at Number 93.)
After I recovered consciousness and Ana stopped laughing, I said, "Let's never speak of this again." (Except, of course, I'm telling y'all because it's so funny.) (And nauseating.)
Then I took him to the vet.
There was some additional feline flatulence on the way there and now I think I have to sell my van.
Also, I told the people at the vet's office that I had tried to buy the low-residue food (which is supposed to make this constipation issue much better) but the pet store required a prescription for it. They were all, like, "Yup, yeah, I know."
And I looked at them. Finally I said, "Well, what is THAT about? How many people abuse CAT FOOD?"
They just looked at me. And then the tech started laughing like crazy.
Y'all? Why are vets writing prescriptions for pet food? I mean, there is nothing MEDICATED in the food. I don't get it. Who would willingly abuse getting some cat food at six times the price without a prescription? Is there a black market for pet food? Do thieves break into veterinary offices and steal cans of bland, tasteless, low-residue food to sell on it?
Seriously, I want to know.