After a nice long bike ride (that boat is still there, by the way, just covered in graffiti), I came home and decided to watch a DVD of Oz that I have out from Netflix.
There’s a little CGI fly that flies in and out of the frame on the episode selection menu. Chaplin hopped up next to the TV, and hilarity ensued:
He’d been doing this for a couple of minutes already before I managed to think, “I should record this,” so I apologize for my complete inability to stop laughing at him.
Chaplin has decided that on some mornings, I don’t get to sleep in.
He bats at my glasses on the table next to my bed, making a loud clatter when he knocks them down or forcing me to get up and chase him if he manages to pick them up with his teeth. He stares out the window, yowling at anything that walks by.
I know why he does it – he wants me to feed him. But half the time I’ll get up to feed him and he’ll still have plenty of food left. Since I put him on the super-expensive prescription wet food, I generally don’t give him any more food until he’s finished what he’s got.
Sometimes if I just move to the couch to sleep (which I’ve been doing a fair amount lately anyway to relieve the back pain caused by my craptastic mattress), he’ll leave me alone. But sometimes he’ll just jump up on the coffee table and start knocking things off of it instead.
And of course, once I’m actually up and at ‘em, even if I haven’t fed him, he’ll stop being a little shit. He just wants to play. I would understand a bit more if I were working, because he’d be home alone all day. But being unemployed he’s got me to play with all damn day most of the time, and he generally just sleeps in the bedroom.
Of course, not working it’s more of an annoyance than anything else, since whatever sleep I lose I’ll almost definitely make up with a nap. Probably with him sleeping on my chest.
While getting some other photos off my camera, I found a few I’d forgotten that I’d taken, including this extreme closeup of Chaplin’s paw that I thought turned out pretty well:
I was so amused to find all his paws sticking out from under the blanket while he was napping.
Tuesday was my last day. With me fighting off the lingering last bits of a nasty chest cold and Chaplin putting another spin of not-funny on the Six Million Dollar Cat joke with a UTI, maybe this isn’t the worst time for me to be unemployed.
I will say though, the fact that this chesty, coughing nastiness is keeping me out of the gym is not helping. I’m certainly catching up on TiVo faster than I thought I would, but I need to be working out and taking advantage of the fact that there is no crafty truck to gorge myself on.
Resumes are out, calls have been made, and more calls will be made next week when I have updated information. Until then, me and TiVo and Chaplin are just going to hang.
Work is completely batshit crazy right now – we premiere in two weeks (Monday January 26th at 10pm, 9pm central after the return of The Closer) so we’ve got all kinds of publicity things on top of the usual insanity, and it’s driving my hours into the range of Completely Loony instead of just the regular Somewhat Nutty.
Anyway, Chaplin is back and doing much, much better after having his abscess drained. I get to try to toss an antibiotic pill down his throat twice a day now. This is an addition to our routine that he is decidedly not in favor of, but which will hopefully prevent a recurrence of the abscess.
And now, just for giggles, a picture of him in the bed I bought him – technically a dog bed since he’s so huge he wouldn’t fit in a normal cat bed:
He resolutely ignored the bed until the night before I would have been able to return it, and now is sleeping in it all the time. He does have a sense of humor about these things.
Here’s hoping this was just a rather expensive overreaction on my part, but Chaplin’s back at the animal hospital. I won’t go into too much detail at this point because I’m just too drained, but they’re keeping him overnight for observation.
They’re going to call me in the morning after the doctors and surgeons get a better look at him and tell me what’s wrong, (I hope to fucking god) how they can fix it, and how much nicer a car I could have bought with the money I will now be adding on to my already egregious total.
I can’t take this anymore.
Update, 10AM: Phew. Just an abscess, which is easily treatable by draining it and giving him a bunch of antibiotics. The site of all the initial problems is doing just fine. I can hopefuly get him home late tonight or early tomorrow.
This time, they actually let me spring him as promised. I don’t know who’s happier, me or him.
He’s doing fairly okay – I have to keep a close eye on him to make sure he’s not trying to lick his stitches or chew off his fentanyl patch (being held on by the blue bandage on his foot), but for the most part he just wants to sit, be stoned, and snuggle.
He does find time to hate his new haircut, which took odd looking patches off of all four of his legs, plus all his belly fur. He looks like some demented person tried to shave him like a poodle and was stopped just before they got to his tail.
But really, he’s being super sweet and cuddly, and really happy to be out of the hospital. Unless, of course, I try to medicate him. This was him after my first round of chasing him down to dope him up:
Anyway, very, very happy to finally have him home and have him apparently be on the mend. Couple more pictures over at my Flickr.
Edited to add: Oh, and his collar’s off because I’m here keeping a close eye on him. He still has to wear the satellite dish when I’m asleep or at work for the next couple weeks, but at least as long as I can keep watch on him he’s free of that misery.
