I already hate everything today and you know what else I hate? Positivity.
First, Edsel couldn’t jump up on my bed this morning. He was splayed there helplessly, with just his front legs up on the bar, as it were, and I had to scooch him up. Then also, everyone else in the neighborhood has seen a fox except me. “Oh, she walks right down the street,” everyone tells me. Once she was even seen carrying a fox baby. You should’ve SEEN me yesterday, taking my work to my front porch, tryina get a fox sighting. I want to watch fox, for once.
Before you decide you’re an animal expert, no, they don’t eat cats and no, they aren’t rabid when they’re seen during the day. I wanna FEED her. Is that crazy? Maybe invite him to dinner? I guess she’s a her if she’s carrying babies. No man would walk around carrying babies. I say this like I spent my formative years nurturing children.
Also, as soon as I entered the kitten room this morning, Milhous RAN in there to scare everyone and eat their food and clomp around mightily and then he climbed into their tent—I got a new tent and then this morning the SAME zipper problem happened that happened with the LAST one. IRRITATED.
Finally I fished Mil out of the dang tent and threw him out into the hall when
I hadn’t refreshed the kittens’ water, so there was time 39493949 I left this room today and all I wanted to do was get to the part where I could sit here and blog and drink coffee. Anyway, when I left the kitten room (by the way I am now 100% out of grocery bags for cleaning litter boxes, so PLEASE send me some, Jan), Milhous was at the big water dish, SPLASHING AROUND in it, which he likes to do and which creates a terrible mess.
So now I abhor Milhous, who by the way as I write this is mowing outside the kitten room. Why he gotta be so ornery? He’s seriously both the most ornery and most affectionate cat all at once. Look how Edsel is absorbing all the abhor. It must be hard to dog.
Oh! And I hated yesterday too. I seem to always have drama around my trashcans these days. It’s like I’m Oscar the Grouch’s ex-wife. Yesterday was trash day, so I rolled out the barrels—and that never gets old—and as I was wedging them back into their place—whoever made the little pea-gravel spot where the trash cans go made it the tiniest, no-room-for-error spot, with a fence on one side and an air-conditioning thingie on the other—there are a lot of dashes in this sentence let’s start over.
I rolled the trash cans back to their minuscule spot and as I was cramming the second one in its place, which is always tougher just like when you shove that last mixing beater into the mixer,
I got PUSHED BACK into the stick-outy handle thing on the fence. That thing is long, it’s metal, and it’s angry. And it dug itself deep into my kidney. Or liver. Some organ you treasure.
Brace yourself, Faithful Reader Tee. You have a lot of blooping over to do here.
“FUCK!” I yelled, grabbing my back like I was in a Doan’s Pills ad.
“FUCK,” I repeated, as the pain increased. I limped back into my house like Fred Sanford, holding my back and “fuck”ing, KNOWING every neighbor was watching me. This is the watching-est neighborhood.
The thing is, it’s on my back so I can’t see if I have, like, a 40-foot bruise or what have you. I just have to wait for kidney failure to know it’s bad.
So things are going well, and I’m feeling upbeat, and if I weren’t worried about The Virus I’d go around ripping down inspirational posters throughout the land.