Our cat – Jack – has been whizzing all over the house, and I don’t mean “moving fast”. It all started about the time he snuck outside and stayed there the whole day – shortly thereafter my dad came to visit for four days with his wife.
He’s whizzed four feet off the floor. I can’t do that, so I have to wonder what kind of internal pressures cats are capable of.
At the vet’s office they looked at his urine test results, stuck a thermometer up his butt (at which point he lost his cool about the whole “let’s go to the vet” thing), palpated everything (hiss, phffffft), looked at his eyes and teeth (phffft, phfffft, growl), and checked his paws (double helpings on everything all around).
The vet concluded what I could have told him – that it was behavioral – and I knew this to 99-and-four-nines percent certainty. Odds are that the black cat who keeps going through our yard is freaking him out and dad’s visit didn’t help matters.
What was the doc’s advice? 10 mg Amitriptyline once daily. Great, my cat is on antipsychotics.
Of course we all knew that cats are psychotic furry little animal-world gangsters, anyway. Or small irritable french women in cheap fur coats.
And at the pharmacy the gal asked if I was from Texas.
No, but I drove through northern Texas once. No family there, either.
I found out that there is another me, by the same exact name, in Texas. He has a Jack, too. A dog though. I told the gal that the odds weren’t high for that combination and she thought it strange, too. Good thing the other me’s dog wasn’t a cat or I’d have gotten wiggy.
I got home and threw a pill down his gullet. He’s been waaaaay sleepy ever since. Kind of nice because he’s not picking on his sister.
Cool science thing for today… using DNA to order quantum dots.
Mmmm… Mobius bacon. The plan was to put this over two eggs sunny-side up with a few IED’s next to it all and call it the “Grand Salaam Breakfast – Two Mobius Strips and Moons over IED’s. But gosh-darn it, I’m tired and it was frankly starting to look like too much work. So anyway, there’s some mobius bacon. Wonder how it’d look on a tote or a t-shirt…
In related news, I gave up trying to do a Klein Pig. Maybe later. It was making my brain smoke.
That’s funny… the guy has never been known for his sense of humor unless you thought he could walk on water, in which case you had to laugh at his jokes, or else be left behind after the Rapture.
“That’s why all his confirmation — all the answers at his confirmation hearings will be in a form of a question,” Obama said to silence.
“That’s a joke,” he reminded the audience.
- Obama’s lead souffle falling as he babbled about nominating Richard Cordray to run the consumer bureau
Thing is, Big O, if you have to tell someone it is a joke you might as well not draw attention to yourself with an even more awkward thing like saying “That’s a joke”. Because then it’s like wrassling a girl – if you win, you beat a girl – if you lose, you got beaten by a girl. If you have to say it was a joke then either yet again no one will find it funny – OR – they’ll do this little pity-chuckle which is even worse. You lost, man – let it go.
Hey, good news kid! You get your cast off today! And then you get a new one after the re-attachment surgeries to put your fingers back on. Way to go, dad.
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