So JJ, the 16-year-old black cat with kidney insufficiency, has gotten more and more cranky over the past year, to the point where he yells at me if his food bowl isn’t filled to the brim, yells at me if the other cats’ food bowls aren’t likewise filled, yells at me, when he wants to be petted, yells at me when he wants to be let down, and generally yells at me.
But since I know his kidneys are slowly failing I don’t want to ignore his yelling because I don’t know if it’s because he’s in pain or he’s just being grumpy. So, yeah, I’ve pretty much become his body servant. Cut to a few minutes ago, when he was yelling loudly from the living room. Like the good servant I am, I dropped what I was doing and went in there to see what was up.
Some background: JJ likes sleeping on the futon in the living room. I will occasionally bring him his wet food or water there so that he can have dinner in bed, so to speak. I’d left the spare water bowl on the end table, and because our orange tabby Jeremy is a huge resource hog who will shoulder JJ out of the way to get at any food or water I’d put another bowl of water next to it so that Jer-bear could drink out of that one while JJ drank out of the other bowl.
I go into the living room and see JJ staring at the now-empty water bowls. He then gives me an accusing look as if to say, “How dare you let these run dry?” Please note that we have two bowls of water with the regular food bowls and a big bowl of water on the breakfast nook table, all of which are washed and refreshed multiple times a day. But no, Grandpa wanted his water bowl on the end table, and he wanted it now.
I sighed and refilled them both. After a few minutes he yelled for cuddles, and has just now demanded to be let down. Once I did that he strolled off to the living room again, most likely to snooze until he decides to start yelling about something yet again.
My life, you know you want it.
So I’m drenched in sweat from having to clean up a puddle of cat pee on the bay window ledge in the kitchen (which requires me to climb up ON THE COUNTER to reach it as it’s a deep window that is directly behind the sink. At this point I am still in my jammies, haven’t taken my meds or eaten breakfast yet, just so you get the full picture). Once I’m up there, I have to wipe everything down with enzyme cleaner and then water, climb back down, add more dirt to the large pot that Jemma mistakenly used as a litterbox (decorative stones will be added to the top so that none of them can dig in it) and two other pots because what the hell, might as well fill all of them while I have the potting soil out, clean all the excess dirt from the original digging and my own work off the sink and counters, sweep the floor, clean the litterboxes, spritz the food bowls and water bowls, and mediate Jemma and Jessie growling and chasing each other all over the kitchen and living room With Intent.
If that wasn’t enough, I then hear a knock at the door. While I’m still in my jammies. Whee. I open it a crack to see the landscaping guy whom I’d called on Tuesday, apologizing for not calling first but he was in the neighborhood so… One quick-change into yoga pants and a t-shirt later, I’m giving him a tour of Casa Cameron and showing him all the stuff that needs to be done. He promises to call me next week with an estimate, and I see him off.
I then realize it’s 12:40 PM and I have to get off to my Monday writing meet-up with two friends. Still haven’t had my meds or breakfast yet, note. I pop the meds and head off to the meetup, resigning myself to a carb-laden meal because I have to eat SOMETHING and soon or things will get ugly.
Got 1500 words done on Breaker Zone but I have a battle/rescue scene to plot out and have to come back home for that so I can blast the Pacific Rim soundtrack over the headphones while I write. Jessie is sleeping upstairs and Jemma is somewhere around here, I don’t know where. And as long as it stays quiet, I don’t care.
Is the day over with, yet?