Don’t ask me for any.
and this is just my Twitter DMs
Right now I’m sitting at a friend’s house, cat-sitting, while under doctor’s orders to avoid cats. I have just discovered that one of them has peed on every fabric-covered surface he can reach, OTHER than the cat bed and the cat platform, of course. Well, I haven’t just discovered that: I discovered it a while ago, immediately prior to chasing the cat down, rubbing his face in it, giving him what used to be called “what for” and bouncing him off the wall when I tossed him out of the room. And after stripping off the bed and throwing the sheets into the washing machine. And after coming back upstairs to find he’d also peed on the fitted sheet and it had of course seeped through to the mattress pad as well, and stripping both of them off and taking them downstairs to wait their turn with the Heavy Duty cycle. Oh, right, AND after I had to waste 15 minutes chasing the offending varmint out of the other bedroom (broomsticks under beds work really well with cats who aren’t used to physical violence). I’m here because the owners don’t want the cats to be lonely. They’ve already got enough food to last till the Commies come, and their litter was changed this morning, but god forbid cats should be lonely.
Did I mention I’m immune-compromised and allergic to cats? Look, I know there are bigger problems in the world. I could be dying of cancer, like my friend Derek. I could be in intensive care for the second time in a month, like the fellow for whom I’m cat-sitting. I could have gone to American schools.
But I just got out of the hospital, I’m facing surgery that friends can’t help but tell me their friend died TWICE during, thanks so much, I’m on some serious meds with major side-effects, I’m not allowed a single heartening beverage until Friday of next week, thanks to the medicine I’m hallucinating, having chest pains, and sprained my foot yesterday, I have no heat or lights at home, there’s a ONE FOOT LONG HOLE IN THE WALL of my living room where the mildew ate right through, I’m poor, every time I pick a date on which to have an event there’s someone in town who immediately chooses the same fucking day (six times in ten months UPDATE: aw heck, according to his count, which I’ll accept, it’s only been exactly 33 and 1/3rd% of times, or three of nine, UPDATE UPDATED: actually, it’s four in ten or forty percent of the time, is no accident, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed, my dear), and the friend I relied on to let people know I was in the hospital only told my sister about it a few days after I was admitted, and tagged me in a Facebook note, which of course only shows up on MY page as “someone tagged you in a note” and not “hey everybody, raincoaster’s in the hospital.” So there I sat for days and days, saying hi to all the people who came into the room to visit other people. But at least the cats aren’t lonely, so, you know, that’s something. Also, why in god’s name would someone DM “hope you’re okay”? So nobody would catch them at it?
And you know, I probably like you just fine but for now, no, I am not going to take out your garbage. I am not going to help you move. I am not going to check on something for you. I am not going to pass along your messages. I am not going to wash your dishes, or sit your cats, or run to the store for you, or return emails that start with “I need some social media help” and do not end in cheques.
UPDATED: and, if you add me to your newsletter list without my permission even though you personally attended the class where I actually made people raise their right hands and swear not to do that, in all likelihood yes, I AM going to mock you on Twitter in front of thousands of people. That little internal editor that keeps me demure and polite? Has taken a little “time out” and won’t be back till I’m feeling better, so it’s not advisable to piss me off just at the moment.
raincoaster 
Oh, what, wait?! Did someone hijack your blog for a few minutes.. Oh well, I am sure it is just the same raincoaster writing random stuff again!
Yeah. Did someone tell you I take requests and edit according to reader preferences? Because that someone was wrong.
He he he..
Whoa dude that sucks! Yeah I kept wondering how you were last week. Missing your online presence, I even searched Twitter for news. And now this! Well I’m sure the cats’ human companions are grateful, even if the cats are dissing you!
Thanks. Actually, it turns out they read my blog, who knew? So they’re not thrilled.
So sorry to hear about all this, Rain! I have been largely absent from blogs lately with a lot of my own stuff going on. Had no idea about you needing surgery. Crap. When you get a minute could I get a quick email update? So glad I didn’t ask you for some FB help the other day…
No, I’m not going to email anyone. Do you know how many people I know? Who’d want emails?
I’ll put things up here or on FB whenever I get around to it, which isn’t going to be before Monday, probably. I’m just too goddam tired.
I got myself into this fucking cat mess by not saying No when I knew I should have.
Woman! Sux to be you right now! Lock the felines in a bathroom (with a litter box and minimal food) until they decide to behave. They are acting out because they sense your dislike. Sorry you are so sick and out of sorts. And sorry you have to have major surgery at the holidays. I have someone close to me that is having their gall bladder, a cancerous kidney, and a few other minor irritations taken care of on the 16th. So I will send all of my alcohol sotted wishes of health and good will and happiness to both of you. Those that talk about death and gall bladders need to choke on their own unused brain matter.
Saying no. Sometimes way more complicated than it needs to be. Guilt. A sense of responsibility. Wanting to be supportive. Being labeled selfish. To hell with all that. Honestly? IMO, saying “no” is one of the most important things we can do for ourselves. Sometimes it feels damn good to say no. I recently reclaimed the power of “NO” and boy oh boy did people not like it. Good for you, Rain. When the gin ban is lifted we’ll…well, we’ll drink gin. You’re in my thoughts. Scary, unpleasant shit, this business of gall bladders and surgery.
The cat is not acting out because it senses my dislike: I didn’t dislike it until I discovered it’d just urinated all over things. I wasn’t even here when he did his first round of Niagara Falls impressions; the stain was hours old.I don’t give a rat’s ass why it’s doing it, I just want it not to be my problem anymore, and now that I’m not cat-sitting it, it’s not my problem anymore, so GOOD.
Cheryl: you’re so right. I got myself into this by volunteering on Facebook. I’m normally pretty good about saying No, but in this case I’m low and ill, and that makes it easier (inevitable, even) to project things onto other people, and I really truly thought that the owner would burst into tears if I didn’t solve this problem for them. I should have faced down that phantom and, if it turned out to be true, just let them cry for their lonely cats anyway. My friends don’t want me to hurt myself; it’s my own damn fault for volunteering.
But that does not mean I do not have the right to bitch about it on my own blog, that’s for good and damn sure.
In times of great stress, we sometimes fail to see what’s happening in the lives of the people we count on for support. Not much makes sense when one is running on empty and fight or flight has taken over.
Bitch away. Better out than in.
*sympathetic hug*
I got nothing, other than I really hope your health issues clear up soon, and copious peeing usually means you need to make a trip to the vet.
(uh, the cat, that is)
Cheryl, you’re very wise.
bug_girl, the cat is 100% perfectly healthy. It’s had vet checks. It ONLY pees on the beds of and in the shoes of people who have “failed” it. This is a behavior/training issue.
Sorry to hear you’re in such a state.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass why it’s doing it, I just want it not to be my problem anymore …”
Goodness, I have no idea what you mean [/sarc]
By the way–She urges me to tell you that she only died twice ‘cos she was violently allergic to the anaesthetic. If you’ve had other surguries without problems, you’ll likely be fine.
Unless they use Advil as the anaesthetic. And I think at street prices at least, morphine is actually cheaper.
Shit, all the snooping I did on my chart and I FORGOT TO FIND OUT THE PRICE OF MORPHINE! Seriously, who knew they had a column on your medical chart for the price of everything? One of the lab techs flat refused to use the small needle on me, with the result that I have what I call a “post-emo bruise tat” circling my right arm at the elbow. Because the huge needles with the diameter of a typical railway tunnel are cheaper than the butterfly needles. I hope she bleeds to unconsciousness out her uterus the next time she pulls that shit on some poor patient just because she’s got a quota.
Also, the only surgery I’ve ever had was dental surgery. This does not bode well.
At least the barista at Waves said he’d been worried about me when I vanished. So, you know, that’s something.
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I’m keeping warm fuzzy thoughts for you rain.
Thanks. Warm and fuzzy, but not cat-like, right?
NO ONE click on Ted. That is Rorschach scary! Plus now we know who was the ‘doom sayer’! I’m glad you’re looking after my cats NOT my kid (although rough justice might smarten him up!). (No worry folks – he’s 36 and six something but still intimidated by Rain.) Anyway, here, no contact with piss or litter, the Gin is a 40 (English) pounder and the vermouth is red and white from Italy. Now they tell me I should have got you Campari. Bitters are from ‘Angostura’. Wine is from the basement. Pedicure if I hear from you by tomorrow. Fridge and freezer full of good stuff – can’t wait to see you!
God bless you, Lydia! I can’t touch the stuff till Friday, but I intend to watch every Christmas special this year just sozzled enough to confide in the cats my lifelong crush on George Bailey and Linus. I can Camparize myself, thanks to the generosity of Lost Weeknight!
Your basement wine is the best! And yes, you’ll hear from me.
Dang, Rain, I go away for a while and come back to find you all gimpy and gamey. Once they remove the parasitic twin you’ll be amazed at how much better you feel. Wish you a speedy return to gin-soaked normalcy.
Friday can’t come soon enough. I’ve had one twinge and one almost-time-to-call-the-ambulance relapse since then, but so far have avoided another emergency stay. I have to hand it to canadian hospitals: the blankets may have holes in them, the curtains may be darned, but they’ve got hot and cold running morphine 24/7 and it is LOVELY when it’s what you need.
I have an appointment iwth my regular doctor tomorrow and one with the surgeon for an assessment on Friday.
Since you don’t seem to be too busy right now, how about a first-hand description of your visits with Μορφέας? Did you tell each other bullshit stories or just stare at each other from across the room?
Opiates are not known for their improving effect on prolixity. I did take some quite loopy notes in the hospital, shall probably post them soonish.
It’s times like this when it sucks to be over the water!
My friend just had gall bladder surgery and is doing much better (and yes, she’d ended up in emerg too) thank you very much.
Hope your appointment with the doctor goes well this week, and surgery can be scheduled soon.
Stay pleasantly sozzled (as soon as you can).
Thinking of you.
Thanks. I’m house-sitting and they actually stocked the fridge and bar for me. Sausages, terrine, cheese, all kinds of amazing stuff I can’t eat. Sigh, Friday is coming, right?