Sleeping In and Almost-Dead Kitties

Today was my first day on the job. My boss suggested I arrive no earlier than 10:00 A.M., seeing as how he didn't plan on being there any earlier. I was agreeable. Then he took me out to a nice lunch. Then we figured out how to log in to my computer. Then he said he was going home for the day, and that I should do the same, since there wasn't much to do, and to have a nice trip tomorrow.

So at 2:00 I came home.

First day? Not so rough.

Except for Tatum. Who almost made me miss the glorious experience of a very difficult day at my best-paying job ever.

When I woke up this morning with the alarm, there was no crack kitty bouncing off the walls going, “MOUSE MOUSE MOUSE GIMME GIMME GIMME!” Instead, a sedate little kitten with sleepy eyes peered at me from under the covers where he had apparently snuggled with my armpit all night.

Sick monkey.

So I got up and took a shower, and was surprised at the lack of batting that normally comes from a Tatum bouncing between the shower curtain and liner, because apparently he thinks there is a chance I will produce a furry little mouse toy from my wet and steamy tile chamber.

When I got out of the shower, I left the towel and peered into the bedroom, looking to see if The Funasaurus had gotten up and taken care of the little ball of psychoticness. But no, The Funasaurus was fast asleep, with a little Tatum right next to him. I hissed his name, and slowly, his little head turned like an ancient turtle, and looked at me with big, sad eyes.

Something was NOT RIGHT.

I went downstairs, naked, in search of the cat toy that will normally make Tatum jump around with dilated pupils. No response. I went back upstairs, and the eyes looked at me, all, “Sadly, we are dying, and can no longer play with that little toy.”

And then my heart broke.

Ker-plunk.

So I put the mouse in front of his nose, and he sniffed at it sadly, and then laid his little head down, in an act of pure agony.

I fought back tears, hating myself, the vet, the car, and anything else that could have ever possibly traumatized my poor little angel. When I tried to pick him up and he squealed in pain, I ran for the phone, and called the vet, swearing to quit the job I had not yet really even begun. The vet assured me it was probably just a reaction to the vaccine, yesterday, and as long as he wasn't puking or hyperventilating, he would probably be just fine.

I was not so sure, and made The Funasaurus swear on his my, and his mom's life that he would come home at lunchtime to check in on our darling baby. Litigation be damned.

And he did, bless his heart. Which is reason #692 I am going to marry him.

Meanwhile, Tatum continued to look Very Sad, and curled up in a corner, resting his weary head on the ridge of the cat tree, making me want to kill myself if only it would lessen his apparent pain.

Sugar snored through the whole thing, all, "How nice that I am not being chewed upon as usual."

The Funasaurus convinced me I should probably try out work, that he would call at lunchtime, and I finally left, after four (not even kidding) about-faces from the garage, to go back in and check on Tatum one last time.

Fortunately, my day at work went well (see above) The Funasaurus did come home at lunch, and I got home around 2:30. And Tatum looked a little better. He was moving slowly.

And by the time our neighbors came over for dinner, he decided to crawl up the back of J's shirt, like the evil little hellion we all know and love.

They seemed a little incredulous that his darling little pokey clawed self was really all that out of sorts, EVER, but I assured them that he most certainly was. Then I plied them with alcohol.

Now I am off to Tucson for training. See you all on Friday night!