Just when you think you've gotten through a rough patch, something else happens and you're dealing with another problem. It's always something.
Yesterday I was under the weather all day dealing with either mild food poisoning or a lower GI bug - either way, it wasn't a fun day. I like a good purge as much as the next girl, but a full day of cramping and weakness was a killer, especially with so much left to do for the move.
I went to bed a little early and got a good night's sleep. Until the big, retarded cat started making noise as only he can at 6:30am. As he woke me up, I realized I felt a lot better and would be able to catch up on the stuff I couldn't do the day before.
El Gato Retardo found his way into an old, empty moving box - a weird one that folds over on top and tucks into handles on the sides. It was up on its side, propped open, so the cats couldn't get trapped inside it, as had just happened the day before (two got inside then the third curled up on top, holding the others captive - an impressive trick, when you think about it).
He was sitting inside the box, pulling old tape off the cardboard with his teeth. I really wanted to go back to sleep, so I got up to remove him from the box.
As he typically does, he becomes three times heavier and sinks down into the bottom of the box, refusing to vacate. So I did what I always do, I tried to upend the box to help him find his way out.
Unfortunately, the dumbshit stuck his foot through the hole in the side and FLIPPED OUT because the WORLD WAS ENDING WITH HIS FOOT IN THE HOLE. Meowling like he was being branded with a hot poker, I tried to free his leg, and that's when he chomped down on my hand like it was a tuna steak.
As I screamed bloody murder, he got free and tore out of the bedroom and I ran to the bathroom sink. The cold water felt like kerosene in my pretty puncture wounds. I bled and bled, then washed the wounds with soap and poured four gallons of hydrogen peroxide in them.
When the foaming subsided, I found a band aid and went online to refresh my memory on treating puncture wounds. That's when I found the website with user posts about the WORLD ENDING BECAUSE OF A GANGRENE HAND AS A RESULT OF A CAT BITE.
Totally freaked out, reading about super strong IV antibiotics, tetanus shots, days in the hospital and hand surgery, I called the 24/7 nurse line. A kind, sleepy RN recommended I skeedaddle right down to my local clinic for some of those antibiotic horsey pills.
But wouldn't my oregano oil and probiotic capsules knock it out? Maybe, in time, but since I'm about to drive to Canada in a matter of days, I thought it smarter to get the big guns and nip it in the bud. I'll slam the pills any day if that means I don't have to get that effed up tetanus shot.
Now I'm on the horse pills - Augmentin - staggering that with probiotics in hopes of avoiding the yeast infection side affect. If things continue in this manner, I suppose I can look forward to starting my period with a yeast infection as I drive to Canada with a throbbing hand the size of a football.
Huge thanks to Cameron for letting me drag him to the Walgreens after lunch to pick up my Rx, and for his help choosing the right Monistat - there's the One Day, the Day & Night, the Three Day, Five Day, Twelve Day All Day, Gentle Applicator Day, Topical Anti-Itch Day and the Six Nights and Three Days varieties - they all look like so much fun, I wanted to get them all.
4 comments:
You are slayin' us back east, girl. Yes, we've been in that special place with our own kitties. God bless you for not killing 'em outright, as She Who Must Be Obeyed nearly ordered me once. Well, actually, it was banishment to the garage for life, which was really a fate worse than death.
Thinking about ya, kiddo! Hang in there...
I'm right there with SHEMBO, she's absolutely right - sell them to the Vietnamese market. Now every time he comes near me I wonder if he's going to take a chunk out of my leg.
Next time I'm flipping out, guess who's gonna get bit in the paw!???
Such a love-hate relationship with the kitties. The other night Ol' MC Peepants decided that my work bag looked just like his personal toilet. No amout of Febreeze will fix this. But haybe a horsey pill shoved up his urethra would? Got any spares?
Sure, I'll save a horsuppository for MC Peepants - poor kid (you and peepee puss).
You know, when El Gato Tardo was going through a spate of inappropriate "sharing," I had to put every bag/box/shoe up where he couldn't get to it to squat in it.
Even now, as the house fills with boxes, I have to make sure they're all closed just in case he "forgets" which box is which.
He's been known, still, to find his way into a box or bag and share with us the entire contents of his retarded bladder.
As for the chair he destroyed (which we're leaving here, covered in a shower curtain), I took my mom's advice and put a ziplock bag of mothballs on it and he's not gone anywhere near it.
Maybe you could mothball one closet where you keep your stuff and maybe that would dissuade him from fulfilling his rapper name.
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