In case you aren't sure, that's a garlic crusher. Never seen anything like it in all my 42 years.
Another happy event: my company's chairman of the board walked around this morning, handing out Xmas bonuses. Cash. I'm plotting how to "bonus" my birthday with that moola. New handbag? New clothes?
But it'll have to wait until after I take our lovely kitten to the vet. She's not eating or drinking much water, or doing much of anything for that matter. I'm sure that once she's drugged up, all will be well.
Then it's off for a lovely dinner, hopefully with some strong drinks so that I will be appropriately sedated to watch the Browns most likely get their arses whomped on national TV by the Eagles tonight.
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Update: The day took an unpleasant turn.
While carrying her to her carrier, Isobelle peed all over me.
At the vet office, I got Dr Mean With Painted Nails instead of Dr Aimee Mann. ARRGH!
Dr Mean says Iso needs tests. Takes her to back lab. Iso, frightened, releases pellet poops.
Myself, frightened by long loud mews coming from back, moves into outer waiting room.
Nearly faint 20 mins later when Dr Mean tells me she stabbed each of my cat's legs looking for blood. And then I see her fingers covered in Iso's blood as she's scribbling a note on the med charts: When drawing blood, right side jugular. I hate that woman.
Home now. Iso is resting on the couch. She had a bit of food, thanks to the injection of fluids which supposedly makes her hungry.
Hope to find out tomorrow results of blood test. Will buy a weapon if Dr Mean says more tests necessary.
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Update: Part Deux
Just back from dinner at local place in Cambridge. Next to tableful of VCs taking about some inane tax code affecting biotechs. Whatevs.
Two Cosmos, spinach salad, sirloin steak (med rare!) and coconut cake later, I'm ready to face the possibility that my beloved Browns will be horribly smashed tonight. And just in case, I have a bottle of my favorite red wine nearby.
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