* * *
Tomorrow I will be the mother of a sixteen year-old. How is that possible, I ask you?
* * *
Last week at some point we looked at Spot (we don’t look at Spot a lot, because it makes him nervous. Also, he hides in the extra bedroom a lot, so we don’t happen across him all that often, either.) and realized that the bald spots caused by overgrooming on his legs had gotten worse and that basically he was balding from the waist (cats don’t have waists, but you know what I mean) down, on the front of him. Since Fred had to take Miz Poo to the vet on Saturday anyway (yes, he is a prince among men, and he is MINE) he called and made sure it was okay to take Spot as well.
Saturday morning he packed Spot up in one carrier and Miz Poo in the other. Spot was making the saddest, scariest, eeriest noises I’ve ever heard, and it was freaking out Spanky and Meester Boogers, too. Meester Boogers was sniffing at Spot’s carrier with his ears back and just generally looking freaked out.
When Fred came back from the vet’s an hour later he had three different medications for Spot along with an estimate from the vet regarding Spot’s teeth, which apparently desperately need cleaning. The medication was an antibiotic because the vet thinks Spot has a skin infection, medication for ringworm (he has a small spot behind his ear), and some kind of antidepressant medication so he’ll stop with the incessant grooming.
I don’t remember the name of the antidepressant off the top of my head, but it was the same stuff we gave Miz Poo last year or the year before when the vet suspected she was overgrooming and that that’s what was causing her lip to puff up. We had her on it for two or three days and had to take her off it, because it turned her into a total zombie. She didn’t act like herself at all, just sat there and stared off into space and was completely passive when we gave her medication or picked her up or whatever. After two days on it, I’d say it has the same effect on Spot, too. He’s always been the kind of cat who will purr really loudly if you talk to him or pet him, but Fred scratched him behind the ears last night, and not a purr was heard.
I guess we’re going to keep him on it for now, just because the sight of his skinny, balding legs is painful to see. Hopefully this will help stop the overgrooming and let his fur grow back.
At the age of 10, he’s now considered a geriatric cat. That just sucks to think about, to say the least.
* * *
When I came downstairs this morning, I glanced over at the cable box, and my heart just sank. The cable box flashed “Boot” at me a couple of times, and then went blank. I turned everything on, and it gave me the blue screen for a minute, and then claimed to be on channel 2, but the screen was black and I couldn’t change the channel or look at my list of recorded stuff. After about two minutes, the box turned itself off, flashed “Boot” at me, and then turned itself off. I called and bitched at Fred for a minute and he had me disconnect the power supply and cable to the box. I did so, waited a few minutes, and then plugged them back in. It did the same thing, I told him exactly what was happening, and he said he’d call the cable company.
While I was on my way to the pet store he called me on my cell phone to tell me that the cable guy would be at the house between 11 and 2 on Wednesday. I commenced to bitching about the fucking cable box and the fucking cable company and what bastards they all are and how I should just start taping everything with the VCR because I HATE THE CABLE COMPANY.
“No one I know who has a TiVo has ever had all the problems we’ve had with the friggin’ DVR!” I told him. “I should just go get us a TiVo!”
He wouldn’t go for that.
“Well, how the hell are we supposed to watch TV tonight?” I asked.
“We’ll move the cable box from one of the other TVs into the living room,” he said.
“And when the host of
The Swan is saying something inane and I didn’t hear what she said because you were TALKING, how the hell am I going to rewind so I can hear her?” I demanded.
“Bessie,” Fred said. “We used to watch TV without being able to rewind it. We can do it again!”
“But I don’t waaaaaant to,” I sniffled.
When I got home from the pet store, the cable box was up and running. I was able to turn it on and change channels and everything, but everything I recorded since last Wednesday and hadn’t watched – CSI: NY, ER, Desperate Housewives, Boston Legal – was gone, gone, gone. Thank god Desperate Housewives reruns on Saturdays, but everything else is long gone.
Stupid cable box. Stupid cable company. The question now is whether the cable box just had a hiccup, or if it’s starting to break down.
And now I have nothing to watch this afternoon while I’m cross-stitching.
Fuckers.
* * *
“I don’t care that you were sitting here first. You got up and now I am sitting here. And if you try to move me, I will cut you. Capisce?”]]>