ye olde crapfest

so i'm going home now. i worked really hard to get all those BigImportantThings done so i could get home to my little injured man. you heard me, steve the cat's laid up. not sure what happened to him, though i suspect it had something to do with extreme windsurfing (for those of you who aren't familiar with extreme windsurfing, it's like regular windsurfing, only you gotta wear rollerblades) or some pornographic neighborhood kitty orgy or something like that.

anyway, he's limping real bad. it freaked me the fuck out. if you know me at all, you know i'm about one stinky sweater away from being a cat lady (i only have two cats of my own, so don't start getting all judgy on me yet), and my own cats are like little furry smelly children to me. well you can imagine my horror when i walked out of the house this morning, called for steed (my fave nickname for him), and he came crying out from under the bushes putting no pressure on his left front leg whatsoever. immediate tears. i automatically assumed the worst, that he'd been hit multiple times by some sadistic old woman on a huge cement roller who was mad at him for sleeping in her tulips. it's really not that bad, though. maybe just a bruised/ pulled/ strained/ sprained muscle/ tendon, or a minor fracture of the pulvius maximus. so i thought about taking him to the vet, but she warned me about the incredible cost of kitty x-rays and office visits, and said it might all end up in her telling me to take him home and let him rest... so yeah, i'm just gonna let him rest.

friday.
*sigh*

"fuckin' a tweety!"