Stupid cat.

Cat haiku that John shared with me today, driving Angel back from the vet's:

The rule for today:
Touch my butt, I shred your hand.
New rule tomorrow.

S'yeah. Got her to the vet's. Good news is her eye's cleared up, she's looking fine, it's probably just a touch of being a cat.

Bad news is, she has a cavity. So she gets dropped off at the vet's tomorrow night (tonight? Thursday), and we can pick her up on Friday, thirty-six hours and several hundred dollars from now. (It's the general anaesthetic. You kind of need general anaesthetic when you are poking around doing dentistry things inside the mouth of a cat. It doesn't work so well when they're awake.)

(This is causing me to seriously rehaul my plans for work.)

I was trying to get through today without using my credit card for anything--not the dentist appointment, not the vet appointment, not anything else. I succeeded today.

New rule tomorrow.

Quick notes.

I find the reflexive assumption that when someone says sorry they are taking responsibility rather than expressing sympathy to be really irritating.

Particularly when I find myself doing it.

========

Watch the end of The Terminal last night. Also Frailty. Also heard and read excerpts of Charnel Houses of Europe: The Shoah and Wraith: The Great War. Also completed the taxes.

(Why yes, it actually *was* a very nice time.)

Humans would be much less interesting without their ability to take things and make symbols out of them. Which is not to say that said ability produces unilaterally good results.

========

Just feeling dead in the water, somehow. Spoke to vet's office about paying for Angel, and it will work out okay. Also processed claims today. But... meh.

========

For the sake of reiterating: Wraith: The Great War arrived last night. Bliss. Mustard gas, murder, madness, Maelstroms, and bliss.

(Incidentally, this pretty much removes the most compelling reason I had to consider going to CanGames.)

Rambling

Reading through Wraith: The Great War.

I cannot find words beyond "Those poor bastards."

========

Angel is somewhere in a darkened cage in a building that smells funny, hungry and in pain from her tooth. I left a T-shirt with her for comfort; it is probably not nearly warm and squishy enough to be comfortable. She likes my duvet.

I am a *terrible* cat owner.

The thought of her plotting feline revenge, oddly enough, reassures me greatly.