Iris. With some fava beans and a nice Chianti.

This morning I got out of bed and I was all, my leg feels funny. It feels cold on the back. Oh my god, am I BLEEDING or something? Do I have leg cancer? Did I wake up on the wrong side of leg cancer?

A hole. GUESS WHO chewed a HOLE in my pajamas? This means my heady days of owning a dining-room table/laundry-holding facility are over. Goddammit. Not to mention I liked these particular pajamas. They gots the birds on them.

Photo on 3-28-17 at 7.30 AM #2

Bird pajamas. Now with holes!


In other news, Iris is home. They didn't WANT me to bring her home, they wanted me to schlep her to our regular vet for a day of IV drugs, because they didn't like how her potassium looked, but when I asked how much that would be, they said between $300 and $500. I mean, I've already spent $2,000. I told them I was taking her home, and I was right. She seemed better the minute we walked in.

I let Edsel go in to see her (I have her cloistered in my room), and she immediately rubbed her face on his snout. Then Edsel spent 457 years concernedly sniffing her while she hobbledly paraded back and forth under him. She's all shave-y and you can SEE where the dogs' horrible TEETH got her, but really I think she just needed to come home. We go to the vet today to see how it's going.

Also, could just do me a favor? If you have any temptation to send me a comment, IM, text, email, whatever that begins with , "You should…" or "Have you…?" or "Have the…" could you just, oh, like, write me a description of the sky instead? That would be lovely. Describe your sky.

I know the neighbors with the dogs are responsible. I know the law here. Yes, I've called the police. Yes, I've spoken to animal control. A lot. They hate me now, actually. Yes, they've been over there. Yes, I will take the neighbors to court. I know. I plan to make those neighbors pay, I really do. You think I can afford this? Have we met?

But in the meantime, thanks for all the notes you've sent and the kind words. Iris is so loved. She is such a muffin. I gave her three different kinds of meds yesterday, and while she hadn't eaten all weekend, as soon as she got home she feasted on Steely Dan's canned kitten food.

she WAT?  

Last night, I was looking in the hall closet for something I'd hoped I'd kept (my youth) (my optimism) (my 24-inch waist) and there was a big old baggie of catnip. I didn't even know I had any catnip, but as soon as I saw it I poured some out, because I'd never seen Steely Dan on the 'nip.

Oh dear god.

If there was ever anyone who didn't need his inhibitions further released. It's like getting me drunk. Why? I spent the next 15 minutes watching that gray animal flop from side to side, desperately attempting to attack his own tail. He looked so cute that I tried to pet him, and now I am typing you with a nub.

Also, if yesterday weren't enough, with the getting up early to retrieve old Charleston Chew, rushing home at lunch to give her more medicine, rushing home after work to check on her again, I also had to drive to Winston-Salem to attend my first two-hour migraine study class, which I did, and I asked Suddenly-All-Up-In-It Ned to stop in after his infernal gym, just to make sure she was doing okay.

It occurred to me he could've spent the whole time on the floor, perusing my diaries, but I doubt he did. He's a boy. I know every girl in America would've.

In fact, let's take a poll. Be honest. Your ex has asked you to come over while he or she is not home. Do you look through the ex's things? If yes, ARE YOU A WOMAN? Because I'm guessing you are.

All right, I have to get ready for work. Thanks to all that freelance work I did and thanks to your donations, I was able to pay Ned back half of that damn vet bill when he was over checking on Iris. I left him a check on my nightstand, because he is my whore. A whore who takes personal checks. In the meantime, he says he's fine with waiting for those assholes to pony up in order to get the rest. I don't know that they'll EVER pony up, but we'll see.

I'll catch you later, with I hope no shocking pet news to report.

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At one point, I was sort of hot, in a "she's 27 and probably a 7" kind of a way. Now I'm old and have to develop a charming personality. Guess how that's going.