Random

~I was planning to take Icarus to the vet on Sunday and use our portion of the fund for the x-rays. But now there is a distinct possibility that we may not get any of our various monies next month because of the Shutdown, that includes VA Disability, too

Because of that I have to put everything vet related on hold, at least until we know what is going to happen. We may need that money just to survive. *sigh*

Icarus is more or less okay. His coat is good and so is his weight. He's been sleeping more, but he's uncomfortable and sleep is a good escape. He's playful when he comes in to be with me and still bug hunts. We clean his foot every two or three days. We'd do it everyday, but the cleaning makes it tender.

This whole thing is exhausting and aggravating. My neck and shoulders are like rocks and my lower back is still sore from last week's clusterfuck. I'm sleeping more, too.

Even through all this grief and aggro, I've been working on my novel, my own one, not the fan-fic. As I said, if it's gonna be 'work', might as well suffer for my own.

I suspect the GOP leadership will overrule the Teatard Shitweasels in the crunch. There is far too much money at stake and I'm certain The Rulers are putting on the pressure now that they are in danger of taking the hit, the fucking cunts.

But our margin here is way too narrow to do anything but hunker down and see what comes to pass. Needless to say, I am utterly fucking enraged and have been abusing Shitweasels all over the intratubes. If I could, I'd happily gut most of them with a carpet knife and let them bleed out...

Kitteh Nooz

~We're gonna start soaking Icarus' foot in warm saline solution to hopefully provide him some relief. Ten minutes is recommended, but he's a squirmy lil shit, so two to three is more likely. I'll hold him on my lap and Le-Le will just lift the glass up around the foot. We're starting with regular salt, but I'm gonna get some Sea Salt.

He's really like a Jewish old lady, working his affliction for all the attention he can get. I just beat him up while saying that to him, 'beating up' consisting of rolling him on his back and vigorously rubbing and patting his belly. Then we played Step On The Cat, which is petting him with my foot, usually accompanied by the chant, “Step on the cat! Step on the cat!”

He squawks like he's being murdered throughout all of this and then looks at you like 'What?' when you stop. Piece of work....