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.