Yes, it's me. Yes, it's late. The two are connected. My Ligie just crawled in from work and into bed and simply has no energy, so I am standing in for her, for one night only. Whatever you do, don't try the veal.
Alice has been visited by the ghost of Christmas My-Mother-Had-Herpes, the poor mite, and has a giant zitlike growth on her bottom lip. We're not overly worried: she had one a few months ago and after a panicked rush to our vet, we were assured that it was kitty puberty. That said, this one's been there a while and is looking oh-so-sore, so I'm going to run her back in tomorrow.
Today was CFU's non-real-employee Holiday Party. The real employees have theirs tomorrow, off-site, all swanky-like. It's not like I'd go if they asked me (I still have lingering resentment), but they make me feel all Mafia, like "Someone's gotta teach these cats a lesson in respect." This made me feel antagonistic enough that I wore my "For Good Luck Rub My Tummy" shirt:
Hey, you made it a "Holiday Party." Celebrate this, bitches.
Which kinda, y'know, goes against all the Buddhist teachings. I still have a lot to learn.
