There's this new couple on the cul-de-sac du Broad, an interracial couple who can't keep their, ahem, "lovemaking" quiet. At all. All times of the day and night, you can hear them going at it throughout the 'hood, and when one can't find the other, there's wailing. Oh, the wailing. Day and night, there's screaming and wailing, screaming and wailing so loud you can hear it with the windows closed. It gets so loud sometimes, the boys rush to the window to see what's going on.

Stupid feral cats in heat.

Ok, did y'all know about this thing called The Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet!?? DID YOU SEE THA HALFTIME ENTERTAINMENT!?? It was KITTENS! Glorious, glorious KITTENS, frolicking and sleeping and bathing and ... and ... KITTENS! Wheeeeeee! Kaffy and I did some serious giggling while watching it last night a 12:30, and we weren't even fucked-up.

[UPDATE: Behold! The cuteness: Lookit]

Did y'all see the article about little Cy, the ragdoll kitten?

I just watched a police officer sit across from my building for about 5 minutes, which wouldn't be disturbing except that when I came back from the vet with Rube, there was a silver Malibu sitting in the same spot. It's prolly nothing, but with the latest crap coming from the Crackhead camp these days, the paranoia's running a bit rampant, I must admit.

So, when the vet walks in with a 300-pound vet tech equipped with gloves and a towel, would that give y'all pause? Yeah, that's how it went down with Rube's appointment this morning. See the last time we were there, he BIT the vet, and I guess that was marked on his chart. Heh. Anyway, it turns out that the explosive diarrhea he's been having for the last month or so is apparently a direct result of the food I switched him to, so we need to go back to the old stuff. The doc said it could also be IBS -- which in cats is often a precursor to intestinal cancer -- but since Rube is relatively young and not showing signs of being sick, it's likely not. Oh, and there's the matter of giving him an antibiotic once every day for the next two weeks, though; thank God it's a liquid, because that might be marginally easier than shooting him a pill.

The best part of the appointment: When the woman vet tech tried to force Rube out of his carrier by tipping it forward, and he planted his front paws firmly against the lip of opening. My boy's a smart one, make no mistake. In fact, I was quite sure that had I left him alone in the carrier for any length of time, he'd have gotten himself out of it. Oh yes, he would. As it was, he was working on the lock as we were driving there.

[UPDATE: Okaaaaaaay ... A third officer was just here about an hour ago, but he parked down the street for about 10 minutes before pulling away. Curiouser and curiouser ...]

That is all.

Poppy called: Puff died this morning about 4:30. She's not quite sure if he was in any pain, though she was pretty sure he was awfully uncomfortable at times, and it just kept getting worse. But she was with him; the vet people got her up when it was time. (And I'm totally going to get the name of the clinic she went to so I can pimp them out; she said his care was exemplary. It's in Franklin Park, Ill., is all I know.)

She's going to send me a picture a little later, so I'll post it.

There's a little sadness in the feline world this weekend: Poppy's oldest and most favoritest baby, Puff (aka Herr Puffen Huffen), has advanced kidney cancer. The good news is, Pop took him to a vet oncologist on Thursday, and with chemo, he has a 70 percent chance of going into remission and hanging out for a few more years. The not-so-good news is, he has to get through until Monday to wait for the biopsy results and start treatment, and he's not doing great. He's not on death's door or anything -- at least, I don't think -- but I went over there yesterday to help Pop administer a fluid IV for him, and he's down to, like, 7 pounds, wants to eat but can't and has really raspy breathing. He jumped right into my arms and cuddled with me, though, so I want to believe he's got some fight left in him, if not for anything else than for Pop's sake, because she a mess right now. And I can't blame her; when it's the Rube's time, I don't know what I'll do. I mean, I raised him from two weeks old, so he's MY BABY.

Anyway, good thoughts to Puff, por favor.


[UPDATE 11/12: Talked to Poppy earlier -- Puff is hanging in much better than expected. This morning, he got up in bed with her, and he's definitely interested in eating though he can't swallow; she's been making him mush and feeding him through an eyedropper. He also gave the vet techs hell today when they hooked him up to the fluid IV, so THAT'S the Puff we know and love.]

Doncha just want to eat him?



He was dead asleep in this picture, too.

Wake up this morning and head to can for my bladder's morning constitutional when my oldest jumps up on my lap for his morning cuddle. We settle in, and the little guy saunters up an starts swatting at his brother's tail. Well, Rube wasn't having any of that, so he jumps down between my feet to find the Ween hunkered down, neck extended and staring. That puts Rube on the defensive, so the two of them glared at each other for what must have seemed like an eternity when finally, the great trucemaker arrived:

So, who wants to take up a collection for me? Because I just checked my checking account, and I have a current balance of $480 something and some change but an available balance of $182 and some change. I sure hope that $300 equals out to my phone bill (past due a bit, I know) and the car insurance payment I jut made, because if not? I'm totally fucked. AGAIN. I mean, my car payment is due next week, so I can take a bit of a hit on that if I need to fill up my tank, which I will tomorrow (at $2+ a gallon -- oh, wait: Speedway has it for $2 at Speedway, according to garygasprices.com, and I'm headed that way), but if not? I don't know what I'm going to do. And then as I'm headed toward an assignment this morning, facken Mother starts handing out orders: "I need to drop off my pants to get them hemmed. Did you make reservations for Easter yet?" Now, the pants thing is cool, because she doesn't drive. But the reservations? She may not drive, but she CAN pick up the Goddamned phone; after all, she calls ME three to five times a day on average some days. I mean, people get paid $40K a year as a personal assistant, while I pay hell getting the $60 $50 (it started as $60) she gives me toward my car payment (you know, the one I didn't want in the first place?) each month because she's POOR, you know, even though she makes more than ME most months, and I'M the one working.

Gah.

Yeah, I know, I really have nothing to complain about when you consider that the government is on the precipice of setting a filthy, rotten precedent for human rights, but as the one guy says, "You might be an amputee, but that doesn't make my broken leg hurt any less." Or some such thing.

With that, I'll lighten the mood a bit with photos of my two boyfriends.

[UPDATE: Better news, everyone: Just checked my Bill Pay, and the $182? Is that phone bill plus my car payment. So now, when the insurance hits? I'll still have money left to get me through to next check. Still, thank God I stocked up on the Ramen and tomato sauce while I still had the chance. Sheesh.]

Elliott, aka "Weenie Been" and my youngest, has just taken a bite of Mommy's White Castle cheeseburger. The outcome of this canNOT be good.