I don’t write much about Herself’s psychotic cat. Most of the time no-one would believe the stuff the little git does anyway.
However, one thing that is beyond dispute is that this cat is a dirty sod. I’ve never seen it in a cat before,but he just doesn’t clean himself up at all. Most of the time this isn’t too bad, but come spring he goes outside and sleeps under cars, and generally ends up oily, dirty, and – frankly – bloody manky. At the moment his fur is almost in dreadlocks in places – utterly matted.
We’d made an appointment for the little sod to go to the vets and get the matted bits removed. Yes, the vets need to do it. He’s a dangerous wee beastie – the people who read Mike Ripley’s “Angel” books will understand if I say that this thing would give Springsteen a run for his money. To get sorted out he needs to be anaesthetised, and then they can trim/shave the fur.
Of course, this means that the cat can’t have food for 12 hours or so before going in – and he wasn’t in in time to eat last night before 8pm. So he’s had no food all night, and thus keeps us awake by yowling for food, plucking carpet, attacking beds, anything to get attention and thus get food. But no, we were good, and didn’t feed the annoying little sod.
By morning though, I have to say I wasn’t awake. Residue from yesterday’s joys plus lack of sleep equated with twuntdom.
I let the bloody cat out. As Scary would say, “Oh spoons“.
So we’ve now got to go through it all again tonight. I may just nail the little sod’s feet to the floor, and superglue his lips together. Alternatively, I’m going to ask the vet to shave the cat in the style of a poodle. If everyone laughs at him for three months while the fur grows again, he may learn to clean himself up…
Well, yesterday was grotty. I still don’t know why, but dental anaesthetic simply flattens me. My joints end up with the kind of aches one normally associates with a dollop of ‘flu – although thankfully not this one – and I’m just groggy, grouchy, and flat for about 24 hours.
The anaesthetic itself wears off really quickly – within two hours I was completely un-numbed (if that’s a word) and back to ‘normal’,or at least as close to it as I ever get. But the after-effects hit me like a hammer, and last bloody ages.
Surprisingly, my jaw doesn’t feel too bad at all today. Yesterday it felt like I’d been kicked by a horse, but today while there’s a mild ache, it’s not bad at all – particularly considering the size of the bloody tooth they pulled out. (Literally bloody, by the way – fucker took ages to stop, too). I’ve not even bothered with any paracetamol today.
In fact, the worst bit now is the antiseptic padding they put in – I keep getting little tastes of something TCP-esque. Not nice.
I didn’t get to see Channel 4′s Kilroy and the Gypsies when it was transmitted, but caught up with it thanks to TiVo knowing my viewing tendencies, and recording it without being prompted.
Much to my surprise, Kilroy – despite starting off as an utter tosser, which was no real shock – actually started to see the point of view of some of the people he was living with. By the end of the programme, when he saw the “gypsies” being evicted from land that they actually owned, he seemed to be almost human, and quite upset by what he saw.
The cynic in me says that he reacted this way because it was on TV – but there’s that nagging optimism that maybe he did see things from their side as well.
I still think Kilroy’s a tosspot, and I don’t know that anything will change that opinion. But as TV goes, the programme actually managed to be quite thought-provoking, and not too “ooh, look at the funny people” in tone.
