You didn't think I was going to blow my writing streak, did you?
It's been a rough day, what with PMS mood swings and my mom getting on my nerves, I've been walking the tightrope of sanity, and I've lost my balance more than once.
This morning, Jev and I were talking, and I was sitting on the floor, playing with the kitten, when she grabbed my slippered foot. Her claws were just touching my skin through the crocheted slipper, and I yelped, afraid they were going to go in. Jev asked what was wrong, and I explained, and carefully extracted my foot from the slipper, unscathed.
It got Jev to ask about having something done about the cats' claws, since they can really do harm even when they're just playing, and add to that the fact that my black cat has a bad temper at times. He doesn't want to become a pincushion (clawcushion?), and I don't blame him!
I told him that I didn't like the idea of declawing them, because it's a painful procedure, and can have bad side-effects, and usually leaves them walking very carefully for a few days while they heal. He said he was thinking more of the procedure my friend had done on her most recent cat, where they sever the tendons that let the cat extend their claws, but leave the claws themselves intact. I'm still not terribly fond of the idea -- I've never had a cat declawed or altered in that way, and don't really have a problem with them -- but he does have a valid point.
Mom was in the kitchen (adjacent to my room) while Jev and I talked, and she overheard just the wrong parts of my half the conversation. After Jev left to find lunch, she cornered me in the kitchen and said, "Something I overheard bothered me, and I'd like you to explain it." I'm thinking, 'Oh hell, what did I do now?!?'
She repeated a bit of what I'd said about the declawing: "It's a painful procedure, and it makes it hard to walk for two or three days," and then demanded to know if there was something wrong with me and I wasn't telling her.
Well, damnit, if there is something wrong with me, I'm twenty seven friggin years old, and I know when I need to go and see a doctor. I'm not a little kid anymore! I said I was fine, and she goes on about "You know you never tell me when you're sick!" Okay, so what the hell did I tell her when I was coughing up blood and needed to go to the emergency room? That I was bored and wanted to go check out the nurses in the E.R.? Damn, I hate when she does that!
That pretty much ruined the rest of my day. I was already pretty precarious mood-wise, thanks to PMS, and not feeling particularly great, and she just sent me right off balance.
Jev's done his best to help, but when I'm in this sort of state, there's not a whole lot that can be done, long-distance. He was very patient with me, staying even when I told him to go and find something to keep himself occupied, and then changing my mind at the last second, before he was about to take off. I don't know why he puts up with me, but he does. And I'm very grateful.
Between Jev, a nap, a bath, a bit of chocolate orange, and a couple e-cards and letters from my pen pal friend, I'm feeling a good deal better now, but I haven't been terribly productive today. I meant to give you another travelogue from my trip through Maryland, but I just haven't had the energy. Maybe tomorrow, or maybe not, depending on how I feel. For now, it's time to wrap this up and get ready for bed.
| Previous Entry | Journal Index | Next Entry |
