The infamous garage I invested $8500 in a year ago in October is, wait for it, NOT DONE. MS wouldn't even give me a new ETF (final time of arrival of the completed project.)
I must have "schmuck" stenciled on my forehead or something.
He claims he'll be back today. We'll see.
Two Faced, who ate a bit of canned cat food at the vet's the first day for them, did NOT repeat the performance. The difference is, THEY THEN INFUSE her with fluids instead of watching her die.
She's got hidden Tantalus genes. She spent the last day home lying on the floor, nose inches from the thrice emptied, cleaned, and refilled water and levelly full cat food pan without taking a drop of either. Heartbreaking.
Email to LBHH:
She ate part of a can of cat food the first day, did not poop, nor repeat the performance. The difference between here and there, she then got infused. Blood work on order for today. It's only money, right? Of course, this is my favorite of the cats.
By noon, when I must make the mail, can you say yeah or neigh to the typing? I can send you the last actual chapter instead of the last of what Sue actually emailed to me. Do you know if she scanned all of the 260 pages in, or only the first part?
I'm now three lines into the front side of page 9, have a left eye sporting an astonishing amount of red, and couldn't sleep after falling into a light doze in my chair and moving to the bed. I gave up at 5:37. Sigh. I wonder why I have a headache?
I tried to put a defunct, mostly rotten cabbage head in chunks into the disposal, so it is now on the fritz, and I have a wad of stuff I dug out. Wish I'd been energetic enough to stuff it into the live trap. Coons and possums, maybe, wild cats - NO.
Although Black Stripe, who is most definitely Two Faced's daughter, did eat a raspberry that had gotten so overly done that it fell apart in chunks, which I offered to her on the ball of my index finger, poised over my lapboard. She did not make a mess on the table.
OF COURSE THE GARAGE IS NOT DONE. I long to sing, "It is finished; it if finished…" Yesterday, MS put in a light with a timer over the back garage door (neither of which I asked for...) Protector genes seem to be universal. DAD would have done the exact same thing, but probably have been less able to defend the unwanted time/expense verbally. [end first email, so distracted by then that I forgot my punch line:] "I love tinkering with the finishing details," he confided cheerfully. [end second email]
I've been bursting into song at random times, for inexplicable reasons this morning, it seems. (If you didn't sing the jingle when you read the title, [at least in your head, if you are sneaking a peek at work] you're just a young whippersnapper.) Actually, I do know why I came up with that this morning . Sierra came to clean the cat pans yesterday, so as she wandered through, I offered her a Mounds bar. She was carrying a clean kitty litter pan, hands still in thin plastic gloves left over from the opposite trip out with the full tray, so she'd "take one later", but I was on the phone with the vet later, and she slipped away without her treat...