I have a new computer. I didn't want a new computer, but the old one croaked and they don't make parts for it anymore. The new computer stinks. If I get one more damn error message asking me if I want to debug, the whole lousy thing is going out the window. At least Storymaster was able to tell me what was wrong with my e-mail here. I don't understand it, but he said to get rid of cookies and check the cache. Fortunately, my security program has a button for that. For all I know, I just dumped a bunch of good stuff with the crap, but oh, well.

The cat is doing better. I've been mixing his prednisone (crushed tablets) with a hefty dose of sugar, a little water, and now I can squirt the whole mess down his throat. Not too fast, not too much at a time, but at least the meds are going into him, and I haven't drowned him yet. I get to go to the vet tomorrow and find out how to squeeze pee out of a cat. Yippee.

I should probably file down my nails before I do that so I don’t squish and stab the cat at the same time. Considering he once bit through an x-ray glove (lead!) deeply enough to draw blood, my fears of losing a finger are not completely unfounded.

I wonder if they have a fake practice cat, like the fake breasts they use to teach you how to look for lumps. They could fill it with water (the fake cat, not the breast), and put in a squeaky. The goal would be to squeeze out the water without setting off the squeaky. Or making it come out the wrong end. I don’t think a cat could vomit pee, though. My vet (well, the cats’ vet, but you understand) thinks I ask some very odd questions sometimes. I wouldn’t actually try to find out for myself, but the experimental method does work, y’know.

 

Just had a knock on the door, a buyer is here for his viewing appointment. What appointment? says I. Which is better than just 'duh?', but not by much. I wrote the appt. down for tomorrow, and the house was a wreck. That's a sale I won't be making any time soon. They still wanted to come in and see the house, so I let 'em.

Have now sold the house twice, the first buyers have 72 hours to remove their contingency. The search for the new house in Ann Arbor has to kick into high gear right now. Bob has been house-hunting for us, always a mistake. He falls in love with the sellers' furniture, which leaves with the sellers, of course. He also falls in love with the view. You don't live in a view, you live in a house. I hate his new favorite, it's a horrible house! Bad floorplan, bad wall colors, bad kitchen, it just sucks! This is so not the house for us.

The Marmakitty is having a good day today. He starts his new med, Prednisone, tomorrow, so it should be an even better day. We've decided no more tests, no chemo, no radiation. We're going to give him all the pain meds he wants, and try to make him a happy kitty. However, the vet does think we (read 'I') should learn to "express his bladder". This does not mean chit-chat. It means squeezing the pee out of him so he doesn't wet the bed anymore. I'm not sure it's an improvement. I am sure he won't think it's a good idea. This may come under the heading of "Things I Will Never Do Again". Already on the list: brushing the cat's teeth, clipping his hind claws, climbing into the shower with him to give him a bath, letting him out of his carrier in the car. I like having two hands and arms, no facial scars, and the ability to hit the brake without a 15 pound cat in the way.


 

My 17 year old cat has cancer. There's something on the end of his spine. More later.
 

I spent half the day at the vets, only to find out they have no idea why the cat's wetting the bed; BUT, if I'll only give them $2,200 they'll do an MRI and maybe, just maybe, that will give them a hint of how much more money I can bleed. In the meantime, I'm changing the sheets twice a day. And the mattress pad, and the blankets, and I had to buy two more comforters since the damn things take so long to dry. Yes, he wets top and bottom. First he leaks all over the comforter, then when he has a couple of big wet icky spots, he wriggles under the covers so he can get everything else. It's really getting disgusting, but the worst part is knowing he feels awful and can't control it. My poor little boy.

I'm going to bed as soon as I change the sheets again.
 

Just got off the phone from the 8th (yes, eighth) call, all to different numbers, to fix a mess my bank made. The bank is at the other end of all 8 numbers, just not the right dept. Of course. At least I finally got it fixed. I think. We'll see if it works the next time I try to sign in.

I'm not sure I want to do this blog thing. I'm a depressed pessimist, so mostly I'll just kvetch, but at least I'll have expressed my frustrations to someone other than my cat. He listens, true, but he never has anything useful to say in return. Then again, if he did say anything useful I'd be a depressed, pessimistic psychotic. Could be interesting, but I just don't have the time for it right now.

Actually, the cat isn't really listening to me these days. That's because he has both thyroid and heart trouble, and I keep squirting truly disgusting medicine down his throat. How do I know it's disgusting? Well, partly because I tasted it after he spit it out and into my face once, and partly because it makes him drool for 10 minutes after he gags a bit of it down. Since I'm in the process of selling my house, I have to chase after him with a wad of paper towels, wiping up the drool from the hardwood floor before it spots.

Oh, and another thing. After he has the heart medicine, because it's a muscle relaxant (I think), he leaks when he falls deeply asleep. No, not that end, the other one. Yes, he is now a bed-wetter. I wouldn't mind so much, except it's my bed. And he sleeps curled just under my chin. Butt up, of course. I'm now changing the sheets daily. Good thing I have a waterbed or the mattress would be long since ruined. I'm going to check out diapers, I think. I've been told infant Pampers work exceptionally well, you just have to cut out a little hole for the tail. But wouldn't that put an opening exactly where I'm trying to close him up? I suppose I could shave his tail (he has very long fur) and then seal the opening to his tail with surgical tape, maybe? Of course, I'd only be able to do this once, in either of our lifetimes. On second thought, I'd be a really slow typist with only one hand. Never mind. Got to think of a plan B.
 

I have worked for the last 3 damn hours on a sig, and the damn thing won't save right, it won't format, and it won't go anywhere. I normally think of myself as a pretty bright person, but not when it comes to computers. I now have a sig which I can see only at home, but without formatting, and sometimes the computer tells me there's no such file at all.

I'm moving to Ann Arbor, but not until I sell this house. I can't call this house sold until the buyers sell their current house. They can't sell their house until our mutual moronic agent starts showing it. He can't show it because he's too busy doing who-the-hell-knows what else. I can't make plans of any kind because I'm selling the house. Can't join a class, can't have people over, can't cook, gotta empty the cat box every half hour, vacuum and mop daily, and now the computer, in the one room I'm still using, is giving me fits. You would not find my picture on the "Happy Camper" board right now.

If one more person tells me to cheer up because things could be worse, I'll SHOW THEM WORSE! I know it's not famine or pestilence, but it still sucks to be me right now.