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funny pictures
moar funny pictures


Now that he's hitting the internet in style, I'm sure I can expect groupies.

...

Frack.  That's all I need.

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Spooky is pretty much throwing up every day or at least every other day right now, even when I give him medicine.

I'm thinking I should have both of us put to sleep.
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Nothing much of note to say, except sleeping for 14 hours and waking up with a wanging headache after not having done anything delightful the night before suggests that one may be coming down with something. Bleah.

That said, I think that having a digital camera is a wonderful, wonderful thing.

See if I'm not right.

You know you want to look. )
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Why I bother to keep the yowling oven mitts around:

Spooky with his very own DIY beanbag chair

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Austin, rocking the sofa arm

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One - two - three -

AAAAAWWWWW!
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Oh. Dear. God.

::shudders::

Well Hol, you were right.

The Petromalt did the trick.

You do not want to hear the details -

But Spooky is, er.... off the sick list.

And from this day forward, this shall be a ribbon-free house.

o_O
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Grey, spongy wet day.

Hey, New Mexico - welcome to Seattle.

Cat is still alive. After a double dose of Petromalt last night and this morning, he isn't terribly thrilled about being alive - but ya know...

This feels like a good day to finish reading The Odyssey and pretend, once again, that I really don't have to do that laundry today...
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Well, Spooky's kept his dinner down, and I dosed him with Petramalt per suggestion from [livejournal.com profile] sparklypelt, who will be his godmother from now on if this works.

Sparkly - mind if I mail your godson out your way for a visit...?

Garrr. Cats.
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Confusing and disturbing day.

Does not auger well for the New Year.

Spooky was vomiting copiously today. He apparently ingested a damned handful of ribbon that's been in his stomach since before Christmas - I only know this because that was the only time the ribbon was out where he could get to it - I picked up all that crap on Christmas Eve night.

He managed to get rid of a chunk of stuff - but there was a long piece of ribbon still stuck in his throat that I couldn't help him get rid of without hurting him. I cut off the part he managed to get out, and he swallowed the rest back down. And then vomited three more times. Nothing but water the last two times.

And before anyone says "OMG, you should get him to the verterinary emergency surgery RIGHT NOW!" - I KNOW that's what I should do - and I HAVE NO MONEY TO DO THAT. The rent check went into the mail day before yesterday. That was it, folks. They don't let you pay in installments anymore - it's payment upfront, or tough luck for Spot or Fluffy.

That was about 4 hours ago. He's acted normal since then. Sleeping or wandering around the house per usual.

I'm going to try feeding him pretty soon; some soft food, see if he keeps that down, and pray like mad that whatever ribbon is left in his stomach is a small enough amount for him to pass through his gut into the litterbox like he does with most undigestible stuff that he manages to find no matter how hard I try to kid-proof this house. Christmas was a huge damned stupid mistake on my part - I left the stuff on the floor overnight, not once, but twice.

If Spooky doesn't make it through this, so help me god I will never get another pet again. Not if I am irresponsible enough to hurt a pet this badly.
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So Spooky had his second trip to the vet in as many weeks. Still only managing to keep about every other meal down. The vet says she thinks he has Inflammatory Bowel Syndrome, which isn't fatal, but is an incurable kitty disease. The only way to tell for sure is some moderately invasive and fairly expensive diagnostic work that would involve cameras through his insides and a biopsy. Because mommy isn't made of money - and more importantly, because I really hate the idea of subjecting him to a lot of confusing and somewhat painful procedures, we're trying the exclusionary diet and medication route to see if that works. So he's getting prescriptions and will be on a diet of baby food - plain ol' Gerber Lamb, right out of the little jars. He sniffed it, took a few licks of the beige puddle, and turned up his nose. By tomorrow, I hope he'll be hungry - and resigned enough - to learn to like it. Or live with it, anyway. He's lost some weight since the last vet visit, but not an alarming amount at least. And aside from the vomiting, he's still in good spirits, not lethargic or droopy. Still has sufficient energy to antagonize Austin, too.

Sigh.
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Nikki: In the stack o' books you loaned me a while back - the hardcover, "Elsewhere" - that was the one I wanted so badly to rediscover again after oh, so long. Thanks a bajillion.

In other news: Looks like Spooky's going to have to go for a trip to the vet's this Friday. Poor little bastard can't seem to keep more than one meal out of three in his tiny tummy. Even the micro doses of Pepcid don't seem to be doing the trick, so think good thoughts for my little bud. I think x-rays are in his future...

Bleah. Off to immerse myself in Bordertown s'more...
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He's big.

He's bad.

He's enjoying the hell out of the front yard.

It's AUSTIN!

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He's small.

He's not terribly bright.

He seems to think he's Hobbes.

It's SPOOKY!

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Now that was fun.

Not.

Came home and unlocked front door to roiling clouds of chemically-flavored smoke, and a sparkly mass of broken glass and coffee beans all over the kitchen floor.

Welcome Home. Motherfuck.

Source of burning maliciousness: Lid to rice cooker on gas stove burner, which is lit underneath it. Plastic handle turning itself into interesting globular mass on hot aluminum.

Interesting fact: I did not use the stove this morning.

Have concluded, due to the placement of the jar that fell down and went boom and the shelf from which it fell, plus a certain disarray in the cupboard above that shelf, that this was a
Rube-Goldberg-esque snafu set off by - who else? - Fat Man and Little Boy, or the Dipstick Duo.

And [livejournal.com profile] darkwench, I specifically suspect that it was Spooky, the spawn of your brain-dead mutant cat horde. Is this some kind of mob-style hit-by-cat? How much did you pay the little fuck to try to off me? And what did I ever do to you, huh? And geez - you really need to find a better (read: smarter) assassin. I mean, c'mon...

In all seriousness - I'm glad this didn't happen on a Tuesday - my 13 hour day, the one where I don't get home til 10pm - because this place would have either burned to the ground, or both my furry friends would be dead from smoke inhalation.

They make me nuts, they may even try to kill me -

But they still are the best friends I gotses.

Stupid little fucks...

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