Friday, February 20, 2015

No cojones para gatitos

I had a little competition in my bed last night. 

Oh, that sounds nasty. 

Biscuit wanted to sleep with Torbie.  That's all.  Torbie is not a fan of the kittens. 

Torbie won, for a while.  I woke up alone.  :( 

It's my fault.  I roll around too much.  I definitely don't want to roll over and squash a freshly-neutered kitten.  UGH! 

That would be The Worst Thing Ever. 

I woke up pretty depressed.  I managed to get my God Time and breakfast.  Then I watched Supernatural reruns for a couple hours while eating the remaining junk food in the house.  Not my finest moment, I thought. 

I haven't showered yet.  Not doing very well. 

I did get a little mixed (a dash of mania in all the depression), so I worked on organizing the front room, which looked like something out of "Hoarders".  It's better.  Baby Girl found a new rest spot and is enjoying it. 

I did get into the fridge and got the tacos para gatos.  I ordered them yesterday "Tacos para gatos".  They know because we have a history of ordering takeout for the cats.  She took the order in a very professional manner, as I explained "Just some cooked meat in foil, please, beef and chicken". 

I also told her "No cojones para gatitos!  Neccesito carne para gatitos!" 

[I'm neutring my kittens, I need some meat for them.]  The owner nodded sagely. 

I've picked up some Spanish living here.  It's nearly impossible to avoid.  And I want to know Spanish. 

So, they brought it out.  I have a theory the portion control goes out the window "Para gatos".  They seem to get more meat than the standard portion.  I won't complain. 

The kittens sure didn't.  They were howling, trying to steal each other's breakfast, and gobbling away.  Good.  I want to spoil them. 

I was also happy to note the pain meds come with extra vitamins, as a blood builder.  Good. 

They also have "different" incisions from the cheapo neuter clinics.  These have one over each testicle.  The clinics would cut at the top of the scrotum and get both out of the opening. 

Sorry if I just creeped you out.  I believe in researching everything before it's done, so I know what to expect.  Like my Dad and his heart trouble. 

The kittens alternated between cuddly and sleepy.  I took a nap, with Biscuit, for a while.  I was a little sad to wake up alone. 

Do I have a favorite?  No. 

I love Torbie because she picked me, she's "damaged goods", I saved her from certain death, and I can provide the safety and love she desires.  She got in my lap for God Time today, some it at least. 

I love Baby Girl because she picked Ron, she was dumped, and is safe and happy living with us.  She is not super cuddly with me but she does surprise on occasion.  One day I had a horrible depression, and she slept with me.  She also slept with me the night Bubba died, understanding my devastation.  In her own spotted way, she loves me too. 

I love he kittens because they're sweet, love each other passionately, and I saved them from certain death.  I can provide the safety and security they need.

Gravy has been wanting to go out.  I may get him a harness at first.  I have had to run out and catch him a few times.  He got out yesterday when I came home from checking the mail.  Naughty!

I could see his poor shaved nutsack, incisions and all, running away.  I couldn't help but think what the vet would say!

She did write some very nice things about them, in their discharge notes.  They love the boys, they're so cute and sweet.  They love all my cats.

One pastor said we talk about that which we love.  So I guess you can tell I love my cats.

Ron has been OK today.  Pretty busy doing his own thing.

I am sitting here in my housecoat, which is starting to fall apart.  Time to retire.

I'm debating getting a new "thing" to wear around the house when I don't want to wear "everything".  Something I can use to answer the door or throw on a jacket and check the mail, go out back and water the plants (we have a privacy fence).

Cons: not very fashionable and may encourage depression.
Pros: easy to wear, Ron doesn't care either.

I'm going to think about it.  It's hard to think at all with this depression, and I know the junk food didn't help (I ate 2 single-serve packages of sugar donuts and about 4 ounces of potato chips).

Oh, well, if nothing else I'll fix the cats some more "tacos".  


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