Baby fever...

Apparently, people actually read my blog, as I have recently recieved complaints that it hasn't been updated. When people don't hear from me, and they can't reach me by phone, they check my blog to see if there has been any updated activity. And if there isn't, I'm presumed dead. Sometimes I wish. Just kidding, in case sarcasm can't be detected. ***Cat update: Shadow has been complying with taking his meds, he even opens his mouth for me and yowls before I drop it in. And because I used to give him a barrage of tuna and cat treats after each dosage, he now expects it everyday even though his meds are done. I think he kinda misses it. It was like a bonding experience each day. Me wrestling him into the bathroom, him using his back claws to tic tac toe my skin, me talking softly to him while prying open his mouth, him screaming in my face. Ahhh, memories. But it's done now, until he gets another bladder infection. So Ola's sister Abir had her baby shower today and I had to do something I had never done before- shop for baby things. So I'm in Winners and going through a stack of clothes that would make great hand puppets cause that's how small they were. And for the first time in my life, I wanted a baby. But it was gone in a flash, after I realized that I don't want a baby, I just want small clothing cause they look funny. And the fact that I'm never getting married, the thought actually makes me nauseous. And the fact that my chance for having a kid is %5, so says my doctor. Which is fine by me, cause I can always pull an Angelina Jolie and adopt from another country. When I have as much money as she does. So basically I'm never having children. I've already had several people predict that I will someday be a crazy cat lady, and that day is not looking too far in the distance. Oh well, at least my cats won't grow up to hate me or turn into psychopaths, so when yours do, I'll be laughing with my cats.

Have you ever...

tried pilling a cat? To define the term, pilling a cat consists of one shoving a small round like pill down a screaming cat's throat. Since my cat has a urinary tract infection, I have to find ways to make him take his meds not once, but twice a day, for the next two weeks. Oh, it sounds easy. "Just pry his head open, and pop it in!" Tell that to my scratch/puncture wounds. Now my apartment smells like every kind of fish (I've been experimenting) the cockraches thinks it's one big fish party in here, I have an angry, sardine covered cat who will probably die because he won't swallow this microscopic pill that will heal him. And I have to go through this for the next two weeks. My next pet will be a goldfish, or a rock.

Going crazy..

My cat was recently admitted into the animal hospital (vet, whatever) to be treated for bleeding pee and bum smears. The bleeding pee has concerned me, and his anal glands became so sore and impacted that he was tic tac toe-ing skid marks all over my carpet with his bum. I have since renamed him "Skid Vicious" due to these acts, but as funny as my shitty-cat antics goes, this is downright scary. So I take him to the burly vet in Scarborough (where I happened to bump into Quba, shout out to Kuya!) She "expresses" (fancy word for squeezes) his glands, which looked so painful, and whisked him away to shove into a cage. And she wanted to keep him over the ENTIRE WEEKEND! So I haven't seen my baby in 2 days, my stomach is in knots, I haven't slept much, I'm a complete wreck for this fluffy, shitty furball that I have had for 13 years of my life. I want him to come back ok, and with at least 5 more years to snuggle with. I swear, if he comes back with more problems, or in an urn, I'm going to kick some serious vet ass.

Can't...sleep...

No matter how hard I try. I just can't. So I'll post. So the cottage weekend is coming up, and yes I'm excited, even though I'm experiencing a bout of peer pressure, which you all know, I cave in to very easily. Some previous incidents of me caving to peer pressure include throwing up in a cup (it was a game, throw-up-in-a-cup. I won), a pierced tongue (which I never really wanted, but that's the thing with peer pressure) skinny dipping, ingesting things which are not to be ingested, and many practical jokes and dares that have almost gotten me killed. So suprise, suprise when I think I've finally outgrown peer pressure, my good bad friend who shall remain nameless, is now insisting that I partake in eating "shrooms" at the cottage. Because everyone will be doing them and I'll be the only loser not doing them. I love the logic. Now, for those of you who have been with me when I smoked my first really really big joint, maybe you might remember me freaking out that the TV was on fire and that my face was falling off. Drugs and my personality simply don't mix. We are just not made for each other, which I think is a good thing. I have enough hallucinations that I have to deal with on a day to day basis without feeling the need to encourage them by eating shrooms. Especially when I'm in the woods with 40 people who will be contending to their own special trip without having to deal with mine, which will probably involve monsters behind trees. And that is without any drugs. Do you see my point? I don't need drugs, I'm on a lifelong natural acid trip that I've been trying to get off. So in conclusion, I will happily drink myself into a stupor, but I refuse to smoke, pop, eat, inhale, snort, absorb, or shoot anything for the rest of my life except for the Tylenol I will be needing for my hangovers.