"Don't you want to die?"

What a year end. 

Ron cancelled my trip to Walmart.  Apparently, he's above going.  "Take a cab" he said.  One, we aren't made of money, and a cab ride is $20 one way.  Second, while cabs are quite happy to take a person to Walmart, they won't pick you up again.  Remember that one time I waited two and a half hours before I called Chuck? 

So, Ron said, call Chuck to pick me up.  And hope, I guess, he doesn't have a health problem.  Ron's answer to that "Don't you want to die?"

No, I told him, I don't, and WE certainly don't need me with a pair of broken legs, either.  I told him after everything I've done for him, it's the least he could do, get me a guaranteed ride to and from Walmart. 

Why do I need to go?  To get CAT LITTER of all things.  Ron apparently doesn't care if the cats crap all over the house. 

I know why he won't help.  He wants to stay home and drink. 

We had an argument about it.  I figure the least he can do, in exchange for me helping him out, is to give me the occasional ride to Walmart 1x a week.  I'm not asking for 3 hour trips, I generally need an hour.  I get him everything he wants while I'm shopping, too.  I also get cat supplies, so it's not like it's "my" trip. 

Yet if I wanted to go to some vitamin store he'd probably do it.  Ridiculous. 

During our conversation, Ron was playing with Baby Girl "I thought she was Biscuit" and made her hiss at him, cuss him out, and give him a swipe.  Way to go, Baby Girl.  She doesn't like people to play roughly with her tummy. 

She left.  I don't know where she is.  Biscuit is hovering because he knows I will be giving him his can of cat food pretty soon. 

I got a pretty decent nap this afternoon, with Torbie.  She's very sweet. 

I thought she was Biscuit at first, he likes to lay on my legs sometimes, but it was her.  She's a good cat. 

Now I just need to scoop the litter box-es and maybe go to bed early, after I call my Dad.