Last night I accidentally broke one of the kittens tails. I feel soooooo badly about this. (Would someone straighten me out on this badly vs. bad thing, my Mother has been torturing me about it for years, and now I write badly no matter what, my spell check doesn't dig it though.) We were rushing to get to dinner, because none of us were feeling well, and through a whole series of weirdnesses, it had gotten super late. I was just coming out of my closet, (it's a walk in closet), and I was pulling the door closed, when I heard this terrible cat scream and saw one of my little black kittens skittering away. I knew instantly it had to be pretty bad because she had been caught in the hinge side of the door. Oh God I felt so horrible. (Now, after reading Scott's little Bar Mitzvah brochure, I'm concerned about writing God as opposed to G-D. Oh screw it, God knows I love him/her/it and probably wouldn't care if I called him/her/it Cheeto-Dude or Twizzler-Head, it's all just too freaky-human and controlling for me.) We followed her to where she was hiding under the dresser and pulled her out, then we put her on the bed to see if she was okay, but her tail was already swelling and it was pretty clear by the way she kept lifting her butt, and swishing her tail around, that she was uncomfortable.
Off to the late night emergency hospital, where we sat waiting, while the two women next to us were deciding whether to put their dog, Lucy, to sleep or not. So sad. We played with the hospital's blood donor cat Hal, Monkey was promoted to customer relations, (I'm serious, he has a little kitty business card on the counter and everything), and waited our turn. It turns out that I did break her tail, (I couldn't be madder at myself than I am about this), but there isn't anything you can do for a broken tail, so she got a shot for the pain, and we just have to watch and make sure she continues to have sensation beyond the break. So sad.
Oh BTW there's a great article by, oh shoot, damned brain fuzz, I love this man, he asked me to come over and fuck him once, but I think he pretty much asks anyone, well, back then he did. Oh man what a mind. We met on line ages ago, I didn't go obviously, but I was flattered. Although I get flattered pretty easily, gardeners whistle at me, I'm flattered. What the hell is his name, argh, he looks like that guy in that weird fifties band, Ben Stiller played him in the movie about his life, he wrote for Alf, was a serious junky, amazing writer. Oh hell I give up (that's two hells, if you think G-D is counting, hey, don't send your kids to Catholic school if you don't want them to end up like this), oh wait I remember, Jerry Stahl, phew. Anyway there's a great article by Jerry Stahl in this months Details magazine. It's all about his prostate, which might make a few people squeamish, but he's so damned funny I think anyone who appreciates good writing would love it. I wish there was some way to keep up with his writing, maybe an on-line site (woohoo I found one, just click the link on his name) where he gives the dates of publications. I just love his writing so much, he's so sardonic, why he's Mr. Sardonic.
Today Scott and I are going to go get his pictures taken at Carrie Villine's Studio. I met her through my pal Susan and bought the pictures for Scott for Valentine's Day. He's such a wonderful actor and singer/songwriter, it's a shame he hasn't had them sooner. I'm hoping I'll be able to design a good cover for his demo, using them. Anyone know of a good software program for designing CD labels and inserts that I can buy on line? I bought one but my CDROM drive is acting up and I can't get it to install, argh. I guess I'll go Google it.
Okay, love you guys, just wanted to check in. You know what I'd love, big long stretches of time to just play on Live Journal and get caught up with everyone on my friend's list. I'm going to find some way to make this happen. I have to clear all of the other backed up stuff out of the way first, things like, oh, getting my divorce, and fixing the burnt out headlight on my car.